Might I partake with candour and conscientious comfort – call it candous, perhaps we shall all pretend

To be thirst-arisen with the carefully cradling of our blood-lust ability

To read

Eager and beautifully between —A million otherwise notably floundering line

Of affably amputated albeit equally agonized reapproval

Otherwise, by someone else who knows absolutely no-one anymore; only too far gone, too tall to talk, yet they have to ask but have these long limbs of theirs managed at all

To walk, call and crawl.. … this three-tiered terracotta tear-house which processes to proceed

Of their own accord, as though remote-and-comfortably-uncontrolled -Be-twitchingly sizeable SYLLABLES, in deed aside otherwise otherworldly reprioritised

Back up upon invisible wordwalls?

This particular period in paralysing, punctuated time, We will cry hard tears of conscientious retaliation and fall tall