i. clad in white,
ii. strode into the morning like knights,
iii. ridicule and laughter and lips pressed tight.
. there is no fight,
v. just violence you boast,
vi. a right.
vii. it is the shared duality,
viii. that spirals into hazy messes of shifted reality.
ix. the deep clawing empty in guts,
x. transforms into shallow scratching like mutts.
xi. tumbling through murking and jerking.
xii. the tastes of copper not quite foul,
xiii. but enough to cause a scowl.
xiv. coating the mouth with retorts forgotten,
xv. but only in the moment,
xvi. turning the brain to cotton.