Roar and rend your way, spirals of heaven’s stars sprayed nations through a straw, sticky and dripping with quiet-cast paint passing heat tremors in air ducts where aerosols alone
geyser streams of gas hiss into the night’s suck.Do we grow inverse, over time, as you coil baiting genres that came before? Your hands, a stall for the ripcord, the whip-back rush before a gentle land.