Chalk Lines

Blackest art is what we deal
Drawing chalk lines in our kitchen
Targeting occult alleles
We’ll catalyze our mother’s fission
The room is burning and we’re still here
We aree a circle of fourteen arms
Even as windows bend
We are a tear in the math of ice
A saddle aback the cold shell of the terrapin
Over, I’ve done all I can do
To unvenomize so you can see this through
Now, finally, the maker mends us
Furnishes a blood decanter
Five and eighty-five rememories arrest
Furrowings along the middle parts attest to this
The room is burning and we’re still here
We are a circle of fourteen arms
Even as window panes bend
We are a tear in the math of ice
A saddle aback the cold shell of the terrapin
Over, I’ve done all I can do
To unvenomize so you can see this through