Seven Dead-fly Sins.

Seven standing in a room:
Seven that tease entropy.
 
Pallor vetoes in swaying lines,
Dancing apart from the infinite core.
Their morals cannot begin to match
The sagacious judge that resides within.
His transparent fists clench onto air-
Crafted gear, Crystalline and shining.
A supersized sword, a bleached obelisk:
Physicalizing the tender ego.
 
Gross inversion of the erected first-
A torrent of forces diverted west:
Caverns of shades are squeezed into
The putrid mould of a human silhouette.
Daggers sprout from his barren limbs,
And fly at his will, dissecting reds
And tainting the endless brooding ebony-
An Umbra-lover loves not love
 
Plug-in leads droop from his mouth:
A tasty treat of currents and ‘fizzy’.
To charge up his focus, narrow his drive
So that naught seems target but pretty fury.
Which whirls and swirls with an elegant fire
And pules from wrists like a laser mace
Neon anger, the Hurricane raves,
Hating even his brother, Typhoon.
 
Handsome Nancy that floats above dirt,
Patron for a Cleaning-Agent, patron for squalor.
A popping Nomad, his bubbles capture time
And compresses it gently, like the entrapped butterfly
Being studied by a shy child’s paw.
Fanciful tears drip down ageless cheeks
As a minted breath glides on the others backs:
Light Blue encircles all the living’s eyes.
 
Pupils have expanded on this ‘man’s’ pale:
Extrovert cynic – sex-driven metal-fiend.
But silvered veins are the top of his agenda
Rising above the churning sea of blue-blood-rubies.
For seducing time with the twist of his organs
Produces the liquids of ceaseless harvest.
To place into his shark-laced delta
And to gulp without a mention of savour.
 
Skeleton girl with the papery womb-
That drips out fine ink and conceals her knowledge:
The solitary femme, the isolated sheath
The library hermit who claps: boom – boom.
Whose stomach conceives the tort-apple of sin.
And drowns the wyrm that fester there-under.
She must feed on all literature, for the sake of her guts-
Who grow weary when absent of expansion.
 
Blood is leaking tepidity from his apertures,
 A temper-stirred in thankful dollies.
Who spread their lips to down their lipstick.
With hardboiled parts and vacant artilleries
With stone-cold lips and sterile arteries.
Dainty kisses that erupt the organs, like
Gentle shears that tear the Mammary-crust-
Fertility in overdrive is only genocide.