Insecticide #16

Crash course attendants release your breath,
so I may anticipate–while you amalgamate
and we reenact the Silence of the Lambs.

What references you find,
tread lightly in interpretation,
for this projection of space and time
upon the axis of our tribulation
could not in me abide forever;

Do it for the looming starlight,
those dead suns, giving out their last breath.

Cry, salivate.

And make a fool a lion, and not a lamb.

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