Flee, Will

Sweet will, meet spilled 
bilked emotion. Your chills
reverberate in reverse, cursed
to reimburse Themistocles for
popularity, war, and that helmet.
Prior embolisms flower against
the flow, giving Sontag pause
in the battle for the heart of
the analogy; where the aorta
identifies itself as a self, the
chambers legislate against
oxygenation and devastation,
creating, by accident, more 
of both than makes an I.