Drought and Blight

The package for a halcyon crayon composed of trails of light,
the frustration of the cracks,
stitched together by commiseration not desertion on this foundation threatened by fascism between leafless poses and shattered bark that begs to be peeled perfectly,
as perfect as the perfect path.
The micro organism’s appetite stretched wide like an exhausted womb, scratching the contents of this box=like existence like shovels provoked and the taper’s perversion,
rearranged so that each weight is facing its own reflection,
reflections on polished copper,
components elevated by fog waves risen,
buried underneath three layers of fake prisms and sea shells.
A temperature has risen and complimented itself a sickly pale,
for every flap of skin we undress a petal embarks on new concrete stages,
corpse of the cloud ridden by a heaviness left for broken where I like to walk.
Pick up stones and pitch them at that tent,
broken and bent.