Toxins

Toxins: illusions, not sins... spin-out mood swings/ self-destruct the backlash/ nightfly then crashdown.

heights rival this sound with epic sprawling eagle eye and a hammer to crush the world.

Sparks run through me, flames renew me/ wake, come shake me/ no movement/ no more.

Hemlock poems poured out and passed round/ the doubtful drink deepest with their limp tongues/

dreamshock bloodslow and an lustful needlepoint to onset the sickness/ with the rapid eye-roll and a snarl

that's perhaps not the rattle of a medicine bottle/ the dance of a Witch Doctor/ the sound of a missile from a 

hot hidden blowpipe.