Poetry

This was a twisted ladder 
for reduction of poverty, 
which climbs the steps during 
methane breach. 
 
An absent presence will 
snatch away, your unconscious 
surrender. The scent had 
made a wall of its own. 
 
A summer fall incites the 
book makers. The naming was 
a secret bet. The dead will 
never recall the skeletons. 
 
Spawning an army of robots, 
will you go to the volcano mount 
to offer a living bait?