crippled souls of Heracles biting at the ankles
of sanded wooden grains, ingrained topped-off visionaries
pulling, tugging vastly there in star fields as if ant hills
owned cities in hearts of purple, our tasseled caps.
grown with magic opined bloodied servants
the wine cask sits openly, begging.
complained refrains, seven added bells
ringing ears, waxed variants summed up with a tab
as if
your hold in a ship on calm, watered piles
delicate backings, it's moist
billowing up, pillows of fur
the ego
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