Halve

Oh I look it in the eye with a wary scowl Deserting terrified, the loom so vague Evincing faintly more than craven cowl Glorified amid the pines, a feu de joie for plagues An acuity of operation Aberrant in its clime & aerial imprecision Neutrally into immaculate enduring From trampling a serpent to vaporizing everything Oh this lifting of the cloth & rancid atmosphere A myna repertoire of faithless bombardier Continuity & perpetuation Decompression of time & callous indecision Under swift approach of our disintegration Free from petrified dread & the horrors of anticipation We recovered a pattern written on the air Its tone a premonition of alacrity In a liminal space, an idol unrepaired With a criminal quell of path & posterity