Poetry

A long pause 
after my signature peel 
of the spasm. 
 
It was a broken flight 
of an anguished 
end in itself. 
 
Retrograding toward 
an apolitical fault 
for an apology. 
 
Illegal, soaring, preparing 
to take a dive 
in the pit of fire. 
 
For a gospel truth you 
take cloak off the dagger. 
You will sell your nudes.