The war will soon be over.
Pink skies hone faces of tomorrows frights.
Come what may.
Denim skirts, rose petals on arms, ink alarms claws that animate the birth of people farms.
Small clusters of faces that grow and take shape.
Morphing to instigate a new plague war state.
Which host can we impregnate?
I speculate the war will soon be over, coffin stars as the world rolls over and everything’s born a new.
Twitching faces with pink skies in the night.
Yesterdays troubles, tomorrows fright.