The Sum of Nothing

Pully-Come
Pull-Ye
Sum
Like a dense substance,
Hovering in power
A full throttle
Hours of verbal
Soured
Scour
In light of the din midst
A seldom and sustained
Flower
Of hours
Gone sour
Wrinkled brows of hate
Your blood but a stake
Words you hope
In tense
Grow flowers
Flower child
Hopeful
In your dense midst
Mist-full plume
Angered brow
How dense the sour