After the moon
it was an unkempt night...

It was night sin
of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading...

You were half-crazy
saving little buds...

He was not ready
for a stash of negligees...

A livid moon had started
a body count for undoing a book...

Boots in air
an elite brain hangs out...

Would not wear
the seasoned face...

This politics of poverty
erupts again...

A siege had an agenda
for a suicide match...

It is.
An explosive denial...

The rapture
was on prowl...

It was
a killing line...