Frequency

Good to get lost when pushed away from
the crater's lip rouging cheeks with magma
burnt by buoying of boyish traumas some
selfish business in the black help me mama

I can't rehearse for opening but merely unleash
my talents in tangential trips through the maze
of guilty last measures making matters hellishly
interlaced smoothing my fulcrum with a glaze

Purple my laurels with permanent abeyance
and oversalt my future to help the days digest
a mountaintop pitch pierces forgetful silence
as fingertips slip from her silhouette