The bend of Elysium tainted cul-de-sacs

For Norwegian weeds

Shattered traces of lost vocal cords
disseminating patterns of platoons betrayed in the alley
with Norwegian seismographs studying late
triumphant in the sense that time in no dream is faded

West to the loan of conflict and docksmith rings
floundering like homemade soap in the absence of currency
detecting mercy trees where stomachs engage trophies
long past time finding rhythm of callus lost fragility

Rough drafts tearing at the final composition
there are riddles of ambition, tanked and distilled
talking to the few tears that traded with matrimony
like armies protruding in the bend of Elysium-worn cul-de-sacs

Try-outs for late capitalist tears arranged
in that the timber in the sails of camouflage
did not degrade or hammer cast swat
where rivers decided not to go or drown weeds
there will always be the thick of the remaining hearts
on the court’s battlefield like stolen appointments