When's the last time
you were yelled at
by the goon in the guard tower
drinking white wine?
Maybe too long.
Maybe never.
Maybe this is your lucky night.

What I have to tell you
is fool's gold 'til you burn it.
What I'm here to share
can't be stored in silos
for a later date
another life
a second chance at rapture.
The blood on the pages--
Don't fight it.
I've willed the man in the kilt
into coming;
forewent the aphrodisiac
and grabbed your gods by their throats.

All attractions are fatal.
A C-section mother knows best.
What made man modern
was the ability to make fire
bought and sold for two dollars
at the nearest filling station.

We sing our dark harmonies
trying not to touch off the acetylene tanks
with our shattered high notes
as the straw boss makes his paces.

It's about time you steal photos
from the albums cloaked in dust.
The hands have crossed redemption.
All that tics will toc.

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