The doubters will cross the coals
after the raid...
Talking points at ground zero
trap the heat. The tyranny...
The hawk was always hatching
a pacer...
After the moon
it was an unkempt night...
It was night sin
of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading...
You were half-crazy
saving little buds...
He was not ready
for a stash of negligees...
A livid moon had started
a body count for undoing a book...
Boots in air
an elite brain hangs out...
Would not wear
the seasoned face...
This politics of poverty
erupts again...
A siege had an agenda
for a suicide match...