The People of the Holy Palaces

The People of the Holy Palaces,
Sprinkle the toppings of their favour,
Onto the heads of the few.

To banish like a Pilgrim,
Or a quartet or their muses;
Bony purple of grace and blue.

The Holy Masses are vanished,
As old money out sperms the new
And if the reading ring of spinsters,
Only once knew who to do,
They would be
The People of the Holy Palaces too.


© 2018 Christopher Thompson  All Right Reserved

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