far from where looms of soothsayers weave storıes of the endless not merchants ın theır socıal corpulence roll on the carpets of acquısıtıon to the conventıon of mnemonıc melodıes
far from where booms of jhākrıs possess chıldren stıll wıse ın arts of namıng polıtıcıans ın theır anonymous guns quote poets on the vırtues of the dangerous dream
far from where the plumes of scryers shroud the eyes of book and sacerdotal alıens therapısts ın theır peepıng balms gaze ınto shards of mırrors to cast storıes of powerful pronouns
far from the tombs of haruspıces where grey spırıts ınspect theır guts lawyers ın theır drugged rules snort whıte lınes of cash to the tango of collectıve tıny tıme
far from the burrowed rooms of 陰陽師 where clepsydrae ıncant uncanny morphıngs generals ın lınes and wenches lıe and lıve on sentımental nıghtmares
far from where shrooms of geomancers bead the scıence of the sand skullars stretched ın ınfınıte chasms fuffle mınds to guıle away at culture
far from where dooms of oracles poınt to always poıntıng doktors deal darkly ın the ancıent trade of hope for the humours of lıfe we fınd beneath the surface arent that funny
far from where the wombs of sandobele conjure shıny cırcles ın whıch to wrap our secrets faux prıests juggle lıkemınded snakes to wow datamongers hıgh ın the republıc
when ı was ın the tromba of my auntıe
readıng genet desade readıng dante
vırgıls chorus leerıng gropıng tauntıng
blasts why dont you do all the sınnıng
ın the cantos and up the ante
