I'll never narrate to the narrow shapes that state strength straightness and cess
We're all just as much a mess as we mould
Yeats took bait and etched infinity into moment
And the celts still cheer him
Though there's nothing
Nothing
Not an ear left listening to me
With fear flamed and beaten I shall lie lavishly that I'm free
It is now that the shame makes way for fame
With word games it claims stain immortal
The portal