stampede and riddle

i knew you had a hard farm, where the livestock was stoic and the hills less harmless.
you had wolves that would breathe down your neck. and weeping willows made of funerals
and sex. U knew you had an old world view of birthmarks, where life is stampede and riddle
and lost art...
i knew you had guns, and an April of dead suns... a humid dementia of lecherous guile and innocence.
a distinct remain.    [ a loose cherub in the Wednesday...]  
a bowl of fruit and tyrants
catching spark.

i knew you meant no harm that a legion of crossed charms could reason to decimate my reckless.
you had rules that had deeds, done in the name of nameless. a thing, pillows dread.

the soul of your soul is the spot spotless; a dowry of feathers and blood

and yes.