Poetry

A steep drowning 
in traffic of curves- 
of legitimate sin. 
 
It was a supergame 
of exotica. Witchcraft 
was playing with light- 
 
years. Are you still 
hosting the life? In 
cracks and crevices of pain? 
 
Very methodical. You were 
devouring the death to 
become immortal. Were 
 
you serious about bount- 
eous harvest? Your alma mater, 
where you wrote your first poem.