now we can fill the clouds with texts
the only anonymous thing left is God
there is a file on everything
the names of the thieves are nailed
to the walls of governments
awaiting canonization
we’re like siblings fighting
while our mother lies dying
it’s September in the calendar
of the soul when the grapes
perfect their color and the caterpillar
disrobes revealing a gold locket
which when you open it
flies forth your soul
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