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Cyclic
The title and the tag were expletives.
I'll explode when they're exposed.
Barricades in masquerade as
the cliff-side and its faces,
carrying necessity and
warfare in flank steel.
Guide-less, spinning dervish
with a face, a grin; no menace -
no intention gratis, waged;
a dominance subdued.
The records fell prey to upkeep:
expunged were all the universals.
What was left to fester wide
were still subject to processes,
which shelved them as if classed
by fickle kings with chiding queens, offhandedly.
In wake of revelation
scattered by momentum of
that, which called for structure;
there was only straying far.
Birthed from rapid trance;
the expansion only raises further question.
