The most beloved are sanctuary cities where wanderers come back at night Warriors in sandals guard the ancient gates And you, old man, are not allowed in. Tuns and canisters, swell in spices and ear rings snatched by flying ball fishes from lobes of princes and princesses in a time remote. Love is persuasion and diaspora Love is acceptance and consolation that the hot heads in the city ambulant in an electrified ocean above paving of wings left by angels of martyrdom fleeting above Gravitas pushes everything down The old man says “The howl of the wanderers pesters the elderlies and the young crowds show us contempt”. The shrines on top of buildings encircle banana trees in a ginormous bowl of yellow. Potassium is required to conduct electrolytes in the bodies of mutants who are stubborn in their defiance of old age. “The statue of the general was defaced and regality is at loose end” Oblong windows are in echoes of cithara, fiddle, lyre and pleasure moan has got a pungent essence of basil at nights (In 2023 the crisis came, kiddos took refuge in grimy estates. A diatribe with pharma lobbies left many dead. To kill death, genetic mutation was employed Smiles are frozen in collagen Youth elevated to creed Obviously the old men are kept out of cities) The most beloved are our mums who are pregnant with bloom and freshness In orangeries the new Madonnas are the reveries of our time And the policy is to hang hammock in the vice of cradle And you, old man, are not allowed to rock in.
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AuthorUnknown Archives
April 2020
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