They exited from conclaves,
Gatherers of finely-tuned haircuts and
Purveyors of gaunt leggings.
Symphonic in how ubiquitously underwhelming
The dialogue between does go
You know what I want,
You will want it more
So I’ll sacrifice my upper lip for the iron it costs
To want more
Hardened, brittled, agape with candied insides,
They feel you up and correct the flaws:
Every weakness a symptom,
Every cavity a nervous hungry home
You know what I want,
You will want it more
So I’ll sacrifice my preteen urgency for dull drums
They they will fit
And pervade
And lick
And blame a scentless mumbling of words
For the opportunity
Baroque masochism
Dialytic in sunglasses
We’re so cool.
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