Unhinged For Display

Why is it truth stains deaf moonlight blent-clear?
Unspoken,
Its hush warms death,
Shows winter's other color,
Treats new dye blends,
Fur-worn,
Like lovely sonatas unlistened to
Though selected with attendant regard
For the ceremony due the artist.
Whipping themselves into a fine frenzy,
Sponge wire flogged,
Bled,
Lain prostrate,
Soaked of use,
Vaporous new creatures,
Impassionate cruel stars.
Erecting monuments out of thin air,
Breath,
Lungs,
Lips,
Well struck finger-tipped spun gestures,
He moans,
Bleeds,
Groans,
Reads like fresh open books:
No lined passages,
Bent pages or reviews.

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