a rocket ship in
the cricket chirp
in a worship service
of mean spirited wisdom.
the warm breath
tickling bearded necks
and the cold they hold
the soft kiss
on barren cliffs
of lust, musket powder, and universal distrust.
the grain of sand playing
whack-a-mole with stars and their
love-siphoned dunes of land,
the speck of dirt
in bespectacled eyes
forcing hegemony from the hands
of titled slips of cubicle paper
granted authority despite their origins as primordial forest vapor.
the tank of gas
inching towards final destinations
of decomposition and the spacial gaps
between empty re inscription and math,
the booming shout of complacence
followed by agents of productivity
and lack of patience;
the need-it-all fire of conspiracies
toppling the stilt-laden havens of free masons and hatred.
for such a long time.
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