and should it raise prodigious ire
the mouth of profitable liar
mine, his wet autumnal eyes
alight with summer sunrise-

watch carefully, the oiled gears
turn between oddly minute ears:
the mind at work, a burning candle
whose high-flown flame too cold to handle
burns, deep in the sacred night
and crafts great farces of such might
the world comes sighing to its knees-
“give us more, oh darling, please”

Watch the silver tongue in motion,
saliva dilute the silver potion

and the end product of his ministrations
with his pen, we are honored to see:
another tapestry of lies which we call poetry

(confess unto his lover)


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