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