Moving forward toward a New Principle,

the space swells across the bloated stomach
as the crisis, the most arcane riddle,
of our blank vision in this New Epoch;
The angles are opposed, and the Angles
deposed by the hungry hordes of bright coins
that clamor golden like evening bangles
on the olive arms of jittering loins:
They dance, lurid, in a frozen parade,
under the currents of the humid eye
that leaks the sweat of the diamonds we made,
flooding the heart with a flagellate sigh:
I lie prostrate when I feel determined
and keek the shades that rest unextermined.
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