No less renowned is our hue, than what has befallen, hitherto
– browbeat underfoot, are the cowslips light with dew.
No more reified our subsistence, than is canonical its insistence
– stipend tongues, mine, yours, bought to silence, blistered.
No more are votives sanctified, no man, no sovereign, deified
– to patent gods coins are tossed; unto death their rattle cast.
No less profound a province, no safer office than clemency
– communion, fellow, cloaked, beyond all totem regency.
Lain within an alms chest festooned with artifice,
(Beside truth’s fragment thistle and delusion’s loquacious vice)
Is a silver vial of content, of liquid, pure anodyne,
One swill to simulacrum: amnesty – of thought and skein.
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