Mirror mocking concave convexities, the perplexity of intuiton rattled veins softer stains on skin bruised from within the mind. How to find the simp(le)athetic squanderer of villainous nights? Is it written in the breath of angular bone jutted fierceness-- a sharp scent of plum sifting downward angel fallen into the hasty reeds beside the river ichnite? Ionic post stratum heartbeat dissolved in clove honey and stirred lazily once with wooden spoon devised palabra. Drenched in diluted disguise landing like the ripples from the rock my fingers dropped over the side. The vault of sky an evernity widening cry wrapped in sari, meant to justify the hue of bluer oceans than tears could convey, and sapped of the blackness from where all colors came. But what of fate or destiny? A wind to fuse undulations and infamy with the ruse of time... the smallest fraction of second is mine to reclaim and rename, yes, into my web the stumbling breeze dries the rain, and the crystalized chrysallis again is stirring, shifting, freeing, being laid with rhyme and revalry. I don't know, i'm thinking about chopping out the last stanza altogether. What do you think?