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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Published by Christopher Thompson (Pryderi.org)
Saturated by the stream of consciousness and thinking aloud. Attempting to be heard over this loud scratching of my pen on the page. Seeing life mostly through the rear view mirror, but still able to spectate the here and now. Watchful for the future.
View all posts by Christopher Thompson (Pryderi.org)