Horizon is gravestone of sunk skies, falling into line/ Skyline is the mother of sun’s rise, falling into line. Growing out lines in the sand with rain and greener grasses/ In the crevice, I dream the highest highs, tread a fine line. The waves’ entrances and exits dazzle with diffuse edge,/ Sweeping from waterline confounds the eyes, throw me a line! Drawing gender lines, the plague of binaries cut our kin/ So we dismember pink and blue lies on the firing line. In painting, there are no hard lines to take, just light contrast/ In voluptuous shapes where colour sighs along the line. Alien Sex Fiend makes ambivalence feel so sexy/ Between good and evil, joy between the thighs, walk the line. The poet aims to veer off track as a lone hawk or a star,/ Pollinate the sky under a guise, falling out of line.