Bricks: I

Staccato breakers
and hot secret takers
that hold off the wind
and ne’er rescind.

Ignored of a duty
mocked of their beauty
funnelling hot wind
from those who’ve sinned.

Pulsating to heat
that swells on repeat
we dance in their fibre
and, holed up, retire.

Bleeding a rust
you’re sure is a must
over witches and ghouls
you’ve toiled and you’ve fussed.

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