cold hands and subtle
streaks of pain and old
fairytales, i am condemned
by our knowledge and
distance from each passing
enslaved rainbow.
i remove shackles on
my daily and my memory
is inside your prayer hands
and my lit up temples.
bodily fluid is running out
of places to run to so i will
let it puddle my whole
into a state; golden
nuggets in the smallest
unit of existence
fair with poison and
healing.
