self-immolation -
unable to look,
unable to speak
the match's flare
a whisp of smoke
the clock tolls
morning and afternoon
stupid clouds
they rise from the east
the temples all in shadow
with poison wings
covering their mouths
above the City of Urns
no rank or substance
in omnipotent eyes
the sun sets
the sun rises
mute silence
preoccupation
with strange light
slogans dripping
from all the banners
a crowd gathers
singing the songs
twenty-first century blues
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