the wrong sword

for rings wisp a venom 

in bright chaos rasping

indeed far sur bellows

thoughts barren

protruding

fine grains be foul

stained 

behest

crouched

weathered for face value

under still, shiny gloats

as spines could

lash without iron

we fill where there isn't

waken 

take what lies

as shapes overlap

indignity falls