Benoit Pioulard Tack & Tower
Crosshatch condensation Locks latched, it's my condition The roil of sermon heresy Valerian, my angel of mercy We did, we asked the council We were blown back by the answer Something is on in the tower Break me from Leo down to Cancer Grafted with scars around cardia Planted, the rhizome is hardier Shoulders turned in discretion Moldered in flagging affections The trap is active An approach is gradual The seconds are slurring In motions so casual
