The Biggest Cage

Rests in frozen fences; and yes,

the knocker freezes;

less vivid,

less lucid,

diseasing the deceased;

and masquerades spoiled

by morals toiled;

a derided divide;

the conceiving deceived; indeed,

compassions zombied,

morbid,

the cage:

morbid.

But this isn’t the poem,

nor the poem tells a poem,

nor truth;

a title isn’t proof

of the spoof

carved by the senses

on these fences,

as if the flesh

on the

flesh

threshes

about the world

of the flesh.

Can you see the poem?

Can you hear the cage?

Can you taste the page?

The rage

is partial verb;

the cage

is almost word;

glided fangs around

the neck to ground,

Rest in frozen fences; and yes,

the knocker freezes. ~@

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