Recondite

Defunctive smoke
From the brain
Rankles the soul:
An eternity of ignorance.

There are no marrams for skin.

Marquetry of bones
Intricacy assumes
Hoodwinking eyes
That see only nudes.

Whining gin.

Phthisic mind
Transhumanizes darkness
Swaddling rain
In a hollow pearl.

Aperient paraffin.

Happiness now:
Being straddled in the sun,
Juvescence:
Fustigating the sea.

It’s win win win.

Inside the gall bladder,
The unstilted oyster
Is condited:
Redundant sud.

Quite self-akin.

Concite the hymns of Satan
If you find yourself perjured,
Faith is more recondite
Than delirium.

Terribly consanguine.

Win win win!
There are no marrams for skin!

-Pin Dew (01/05/2017)

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