it is magic
casing perimeters metaphoric symphonies
colliding quietly
like footprints in tarragon fields
awaiting reduction
like
quadraphonic truths
presenting themselves to be wyvern
because the devil is not what you think
and the tower of love pictured impartial
when written willows vary
and willed men seed
memorized verbs into microphone ears
ill educated and hungry
it is magic that will save you
because
in the beginning was a word
and there are plenty of words on the bookcase
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