Iconoclasm

Dreamt, dreaming

Pitcher of the fine print makes a paperweight 

So miniscule, quivering rays

Now

The photo steals a latent smile, it swells the telling morose

Now tis the time, to recurse back to love

My head’s plath like smitten hue

Recurse

Photo makes warps of ocean health rune in normal splits

Nothing can be soft

As gentle put, those feverish eyes, 

repurge

Back to the broaden sea,like nothing in sweet supple jest would ever leak 

Pale back to sweat, you do, wearing sinking spirit 

Viably solely 

And in fits of screeching Penderecki

You barely do but move

Making our hearts hypochondriac with swallow

And venneth, those aquamarines,

They make you never there