Folded, tangled, grew the wispers 

Downloaded the bedrooms windows, on a cloth like the soft cheeks of a child

Pound by pound, led by a painters sunflower I’m hastily called by the mild taste of saffron 

Powerful violins strike a standard, paved by guilty dogs of war

Sour and dulled by storms passing along the craven hills, mauled my ancheint understandings 

Screens capped by hail, flashing flasks of festival wines 

Trap, trap, the folded tangled, growing wispers 

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