THE PRETTY ONES
they draw
their lines with looks, the pretty ones
give only
what they want,
sweet
amethyst caves where wanderers lose
plumose words
from pinkened doors
fading
boundaries against the blackness
where no
one, nothing enters unbidden
they move beyond this realm, the pretty ones
with poems beneath their eyes
hunger without
but never within
breath expiring
in flightless aviaries
orienting
themselves toward the brightest stars
for none
divert their paths
they mystify
the sophists, the pretty ones
exist in
essence to humble the world
amplify stain
where much is old
the
eloquence of form in every hazy motion
the
consequence of love’s more fatal notions
and never
can cause be known
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