Because of the Crusaders, because of the Tomcats
because of the waves on the air the Sirens
beckon me towards the sun and the sea. With my
waxen wings, I'll fly to the hot
wet
clouds
and let go the poles to the
carnival's tent.
Carneys with washed-white faces and
half smoked cigarettes between their
teeth entice the youth with
their words and their wigs-
splitting the journey in two
unequal songs-
One a poem
the other a dance.
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