as a fire rages
i rage to see serpents
dressed as minotaurs
in a forrest of seagulls croaking into the night
of dark unending stories, as if to speak to the darkness
having no fight in the waning of the moons,
the changing of the tides, and listening to the insects
dance in the paganistic fashion, their last hurrah,
before the day exposes them and their brutish ways.
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