Imperfect Control

Clutch the crimson heart victorious place cluttered souls in cornered desperation where nepo baby magic finds itself as impotent as phantom flurries of pain and perseverance that collide with whiskey dram dreams as enduring as midnight back spasms twisting and coiling human spinal columns like juniper trunks or contorted beech branches. Seeking soothing daily closure, streetwise pipers disappear in twilight’s mist followed by throngs of satisfied followers who set their passions aside to recite ballads of unrequited love and wars fought by others.