Opus #9

If you’re a sucker, or tend to be one,/you’ll find yourself groping/for the starry mites/you lost in both hands./These emblems will grab you, any emblem;/you’ll wheel away, hoping/for the cause of pleasant dreams/in the minds of your lovers./For the salvos of dread, you find placebos;/for the medicine you take, only sassafras./ There’s glory soon as you’re remedied. / Wheeling away ,/in hordes without number’/picking fights with women in sharkskin./No answer necessary,/ but I think you know by now,/I want a red feather gesture,/a holy card from your shrine.

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