#9,316

Children wearing masks
Merchant booths
Unfamiliar halls
Soft-orange bazaars
Burgundy robes
Mark the start
Of myriad occult
Interminglings
Wheel & deal
With the clergymen,
The underlings
God-men
And goat horns
Fingers tipped
Maces,
Utter their
Name
“Mr. Jones…”

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#3,372

Chase the closed-eye
Crescent moon
Like sleepy mouths
Mime outlines of
Subdued
Silly-conscious 
Splitting twilight
Chunks, glimmer
Clean and
Perhaps undone
One tangle too,
Ancient ivies
Glassed
Cleaned and round
Tongues lash
Sunlight and
Spit moth’s
Ardour
A time for a
Knight to
Don a thief’s
Code of Honor
Coils, snap
Collide in aqueous
Collusion
Be not,
Still once