"Made in America."
They say ache has no place inside.
Rid the water sac of its rupture.
Come to us clean--
a placid surface, stoic as a figurehead on a ship's prow.
Saner, a storm can't take you down.
Lightning is only a god's bleak game.
Bleach out any gossameriness of skin.
Nail your palm to the wheel.
Charge for this into the clamor like you've been forged.
You must forget the flaw.
No weak link.
No idolatry.
Blast after blast, you must rescind the rawness of being.
Remake and remake for your own puny share.
Brutal is better than the illusion of fair.