like clay might hang when suspended by your ire sliced by two wires the wooden handle returns to the same place after you've cut through me

Feathered wings, curl around me. Cradle my cotton skin  So tightly in your bassinet, That no harm will ever come to me; Not again. Feed...

Myopic and old, These words arrive  Through a purple mist. Bending together In blue and red waves — Their pixelated motorcade Dances...