even your power can have me
or countries, rendering open their blood in me
though rose mud could amputate
landmines or flower petals open up beyond my bomb
gunpowder any of them which in your world
you are each this descending wolf of nothing
death in the eyes is power
i color myself even as your fragility
whose wolves are in me, or with
each which will never shut
myself, though closed me or with open me
though intense could always be rose
though emerald mud could amputate
landmines or flower petals as closed as a wish beyond my bomb
gunpowder any of them which perceive spring forever
they have color, each have with intensity
carefully descending wolves of nothing
these things you traveled gladly & i will unclose
with their most intense death close by
having imagined the bloody experience
your closed petals cannot perceive your power
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