Monday, February 1, 2010

The Citizen Drinks

Cyclops 289

The sun of kings is the same as the
Sun of sheep and the same sweet rains fall
On heroes and maidens. In
Brown supplied the bitter trees are singing
Drilling the earth roaring without number
Descending purpose, you now notorious
Who traverse some crystal sea
A mariner of rape and savage foliage brings
Various robbers- come like millions of silvery fishes
To pillage the graves of princes,
These descended sons
These queens of Armagh
These chunky goons made of flowers and meat
Left bleating on the shore
Daring to attempt the day.

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