When my rage is unfolding, attack is not tactical.
Yam has been channeled for shaping a tragical
Aperture--aqua-knife slashing banality,
Cutting with liquid, diluting vitality.
The chakram that I bought will encircle a chakra. Your
Spokes will be broken, and flowers de-petaled, for
Gladiate mettle you feel from my iris can
Target a chap till he snaps like papyrus-man.
Poleax will ask,
"What part shall bask
In the emprise
Ending your lies?
Can I elect
Edge to dissect
--Dice and deplete--
Cause of deceit?
Might I decide
Point goes inside,
Punch my lone vote
Into your throat?"