Your immaculate body becomes numbers and detached frequencies.
“Pronounce” it —

That’s good.
Now draw the strings. OK.
— what do you know!
Mayhem
goes off softly
So hard to shovel, soft to fall
White, rose, pale red —

A roving shadow feeling like
A thermometer — legends says,

Crossing fingers blood standing’s a fossil orange.
More feeler than hand,

It shakes the nombril ray,

A maneuver on high just dimming the drowned thumb,
A sculpture with a cup.