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  
More feeler than hand,   
 
It shakes the nombril ray,  
 
A maneuver crest high just dimming the drowned thumb,  
A sculpture with a cup.