Amorphous

Your jaw sinks into clenched dreams

Subordinate tongue squirms

Screams into confines of logic

To the void, echoless and mettlesome

Condoning worth, of whom, for

Whatever reward that sashays

Your person to a palladium of

Prestige. “I can tell the difference,”

You swear because

The gradient can tell you’re

Unaware of your soul’s caromed

Salvation: born only out of sycophantic

Severity: dealing melodies outside

Your atrophy, a contrast lost to

Supersaturation: for this malady,

You fear no future consequence

So your eyes rant, closing, about

Sirenic radios and all their

Prognosticators: prepping for doom.

Though you find a hygge in the temerity

Of static and perfunctory rules

You have no choice but to

Adrenalize the phatic phantoms—

they’re getting offers for your

Nuanced and intrinsic

Confluence, an influenced looking

About the servile scale.