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I Know Something's Very Wrong

“The pulse returns for prodigal suns
Who hid themselves in the deep covet of a darkened cloud,
Refusing rejoinder for those things thought out loud.

And they were cached there of their own selfish wants
When four little children began drowning at once.
They went untried for their crimes – no one saw them
Because rays of light found four bodies at the bottom.

And no matter the memories of the secrets stashed there sliced and sewn up,
Because the body,
Every time,
Forgets out of pure frustration
At its sensations
Anesthetized,
While the digits of demons deposit eggs that when grown up
Too remember nothing of the host’s consummate constipation.

And while those hated hands had their way with organs
Our solar spectators did nothing but watch
As innards ate outards, had their fill, more than
Enough; choral screams chased with scotch

To make them all the more appealing.
Unlike a lone firefly appearing
So long away from dusk,
Much before it must.

And all the periodicals have gone
As stifling summer settles in.
Mimosas bloom, but no more song
As we end there only to begin:
I know something’s very wrong.”