My hate is a beast of seasons--
A spine of February rain,
eyes of August venom and breath
clawing clear an October moon.
My love, a demon of reason--
A fulcrum tongue canting knowledge
biased by cock-mind and bole heart.
My apathy, inconsistent--
Neither full nor hungry, I sit
that frailty breach twilight sheer.
My will I wish inertial-- Death
a mechanism of muses
fractal-edged in flame-- Death a flute.