We were rich as sin Shakespearean fools So we bought ourselves An enchanted prairie >Lie in that prairie Just in the center of that prairie (Where bottle gentian Throws a punch like a priest) It will tell you The exact truth
The chickens believe They have found the home of the Common ancestor In vain hope Of dissuasion I hang a red cloth In the lightning tree
Dirt whines and licks at my hands This load of smoked moonlight I will carry in shifts
Not to you For you Not that you have inherited grace But that it arrived And was stubborn
This article appears in Top 10 Stories of 2018.