Air is heavy. Nothing we discussed remain.
Save me. Neither the unjust nor just remain.
Save me from lapsarian arithmetic:
Lust erases lust, and only lust remain.
Poet, open up your heart, where nothing that’s
Heretofore’d & insofar’d & thus’d remain.
“By the banks of what does she bask?” Of Persian ink.
Praise must be the crowning task of Persian ink.
Poet, tilt your verses to the passionate
Savior bleeding like a cask of Persian ink.