part fin of the tenth tent of scrolls,
shots of lava mixed with gin make the hardest men explode
cartons of spliffs and bics of gold,
from pole positions my men of prose shift gears to split the roads
appear from rivers stripped of flow,
strip the gears from stingy hipsters and their queer folks
infiltrate government buildings as an eerie ghost,
a trained navy seal turned angry seer dropping posts
bombs and bolts hurled by blonde gods from their thrones,
I am their horde of bones,
Lord of an Unholy Court flooded with distrustful souls....
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