Building your space,
you were dying daily
invading the acoustics.

How the continence
was going to help-
living with scars of explosions?

Mutating into a full-fledged
saintliners, an inner conflict
becomes a profile.

Crawling to a stone
a crayon draws a cell
without incendiary rhetoric?

Decoding an icon
becomes a daily ritual. From
where will come the write?