Tongues that never stumble, level their accusations,
Drink now from this well that wets many a parched mouth.
Tongues that never stumble, sing songs of salvation,
While their gaze mediates justice on our behalf.
A perverse celebration, a paraphilizing of existence,
As we whirl ecstatically to the drums of hysteria.
To an audience of robbed, bereaved wombs and feverish faces,
As we dance in the shadow of the half-eclipsed moon.
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