The static of the hull

Bold and primal, the rumination
Simmering amidst a peerless mask;
scarlet dissections are hoarded up; in the style of mire
poaching an absent tone.

Sensations that wind the tirade of fermentation
strangles my pride’s crimson sheath
acquainting its sting like a wasp
to evanescence
Into the static of the hull.

We are fraught with what once was; with whom we are
rewriting all evaluations
between the hiccup of wild and tether:
Sheer veils mixed with sheer notions

The inclined wanderer dallies along the residuals
of Neanderthal schism
Browsing textured sectors with an iron fist
pounding through the crust of captive wails.

No soft landings on the pulpit of measured will
among us, our thoughts but musings of jilt and jade
leeching wisdom from the crest of its peak;
Fragments of madness is what we are.

blood will run dry; in the silted bed
hushing the ascent of reset;
A pearled lamb thrives in the absent womb
We are what we are

This change seemed suitable, though sullenness attended as its friend