Halve

Oh I look it in the eye with a wary scowl
Deserting terrified, the loom so vague
Evincing faintly more than craven cowl
Glorified amid the pines, a feu de joie for plagues

An acuity of operation
Aberrant in its clime & aerial imprecision

Neutrally into immaculate enduring
From trampling a serpent to vaporizing everything

Oh this lifting of the cloth & rancid atmosphere
A myna repertoire of faithless bombardier

Continuity & perpetuation
Decompression of time & callous indecision
Under swift approach of our disintegration
Free from petrified dread & the horrors of anticipation

We recovered a pattern written on the air
Its tone a premonition of alacrity
In a liminal space, an idol unrepaired
With a criminal quell of path & posterity