whomsoever divinates evil quickmost, 

feline or canine, and these particular 

whomsoevers proclaiming such recognitions,

put them to flight. 

finesse pimps who flung 

hen-house radar saddles 

over a singularity. 

they do not treasure delicate ruptures 

in flatness, which turn beliefs, and which transform generalizations to fascinations. 

upping their wet 'n wild stakes, 

weaving orange lethality 

where dreams go to die.

i got bored. 

and strangelets pummel

inward youth, 

seeking textural refuge from 

mere night lights to nightlife.