we muster bad men
when seeing reprobate morning
align its severed beams
glazing lichens in diamonds
and in whose bright arms
guessing is directed
where sky spittle drops
new gems in the world’s shine
again it was only habit
in which i took umbrage
as those glum carmine faces
shouted their wrong guesses
the libations turned sour
wasted forever forlorn
we cannot die for lust
but in its fits roughly
presiding loud
sing the hurts of days
as they ensconced
are born
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