Withering at the Sight of...
by Allen Boothe

My stars fade to black,
my brain smolders from the martyrdoms.

Shattered envelopes sealed by centrifugal aberrations.

Corpses never lie, intent with this
only spoon fed adults can reciprocate-
at why I think reckless parents should die.

What has happened to the impulses, the motivation?

My nerves still tense, bouncing adumbrations are all I'm allowed to see.
A progressive intellectual devourer with
sensual stimulations...

Tonight I'll sojourn to the black abdomen.
Withering at the sight of myself, I disinfect my forehead to
respectfully constrain emotions.

Erase the book, plague the steeple,
and all the ignorant people. My brain withholds all the

reflective dregs.

Subject to the mind's frailties;
yet servant to no one. A deceiver lead by impious notations;

held back by the moral gate.

Insouciant to sanity,
interrogation of faith,

we'll rest in a sexless mother.

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