Flriting with Scabs

the machine is ample savior when cleft in the treble of contempt.
as stilted orators infiltrate our thoughts.

wizened hunters unfold their blades.
as the cold cuts its questions into their math.

how deep does the forest dig into their steps.
how earnest is the conviction of consent.

the distance is a vicious measure of the truth behind our faces.
a curious confluence of tearful clowns and laughing strangers.

time laps at the blood.
as much a bandage as it is a weapon.