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The taste of theory in the back of the throat.
Bitter sediment, seulement. Golden seal upon
parchment lips. Tongue a quiver of slippages.
Glottal stop, not. Concave effacement.
Lattice
dowse
in the presence of such displacement.
Litmus viscera discipline. Sorrow is round
but emits sparks when squeezed.Hybrid dynasties of carcinogenic saffron blossom
across the apocalyptic centuries. Carmine tines
of the migration into light
another bloody mistake , took umbrage
(my god what a language we live in)
with fruiting bodies in likely nightshade
and the hallucinatory lines of flight
of radicalized capital.