Torturers don't sublet as a rule,
what Gothic presumptuousness.
Red, blue ringed welts swell,
I see this doesn't come easily to you.
Imagine if you can,
conga lines in a sumptuous meadow  
have gone to the back
of the medicine cabinet again.
Fortunately, there
is no other entrance
or other patents.
Lives that needed to be made
more sanguine
have decomposed into nothing.
Like perceptual flesh,
not quite small enough
to squander.