beneath a lemon sky, in
a muslin shift and boots.
He was no hoofer, that was certain,
but he was game. As was I in
those halcyon days before
they came to drag him away.
Scribes from the future, fire
belching from their hands,
these men with no mouths to sing
took him, and held him
at their home away in the sky,
until he ceased to speak
to them at all.
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