Swarming zeros radiate/from peacock tails/I hold a pedigree/in a wasted science./A wicked title I hold /in abscessed arms/they lash out defending./Zeros conspires with arms/to build a walls./ killing force that claps out loud/we aligned to set proportions/ hear naval bells recall you as dynamo/ posed with others/stopped in your tracks/ fleet of foot and eager.
Pose In Tired Eyes
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Poetry in Motion 