Search the nation for clues about God,
Only religion is a fellowship of riches in Heaven.
The coat we wear, the boots we share,
Lesser people call these the attributes of those in repair.
A drunkard climbs the point of the puddle of blood,
A bloody man is his creature and creation.
My old task was a forgotten nightmare, of taste
And shame, like the rich heart and stamped genius.
Wishes go out to beloved troops of fine cloth,
It is their coat we wear and surrender our souls to.
Likewise, the saddle is pointed like pain, like misery
From a fall to the ground by second people.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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