liar's art
1. Our Bones
5.  Leaves and Bread

One push has cursed my bones beyond the seed
and forced my rages, drunk on scent of dirt,
to silver lines of ghosted hate that read
like jag and choke the body’s pulse with hurt.
Before, the banners flew like rules. The maze
was known and days were spent correctly guessed.
The houred week would word itself for praise
and never break its vow to vaults it blessed.
What’s custom now? The door’s been sprung. The road
behind so known the blind could kick your teeth.
What’s crossed is crossed. The old unseated code
now runs a bloodless cause beneath its wreath.
I shed the dreaming voice of leaves and bread
to wholly breathe and speak this world I’ve wed.
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