Barefooted
Barefooted I was honestly concerned he might lie about the nature of our meeting Comey before Congress My chest is frozen, Frost Island. In the face of God, there is no kiss going for the coins & the prisoner because yesterday he stole the light that was leaving us. I have returned shattered by the snappers from your coast the ones inhibiting your other shore ―distinctly to the plate & to the chair you gave us at birth, but it's not over. The cold darkness in your pantry, the naked man that only thinks of eating a piece of his own agony. My chest is frozen before the naive Archer of light & the downpour of rain, stag of the Fatherland.
