Rising Sun -or- Digging to China

Gather round me, oh my Greek brethren.

Link together, lock lily white knuckles,

Summon the Muse Centurion,

Bolster this ravaged dry husk observer.

Through aluminum venetian blind

I catch the molestor and turn to the sun.

Pieces fall to me,

Bladed, shards of parallel light.

Sweet eviceration. . .

Sweat nutrition

For the earthly blades.

Muse action, turn into sun.

There is the flame,

Floating, flickering gas afire

Above 2 diamandas.

With a mischievous smirk,

Smiting Sir Bowie -

The tin machine will not bend,

But i will, When Red Darkens Black

To eclipse that sun. . .

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