world on fire,
it seems,
have you seen
that stately
cricket-ball spin
down there?
have you seen
that firestorm
bling-strewn
whore-world;
a bedroom
burgled like
they stole the art
from some chiffony tart
shameless,
undimmed-
taunting
coy constellations
to make
brighter pricks
they will say one day
that she was old
before her time
they will say one day
that we were afraid
in the dark,
they will say that
before we swim out
to the ark
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