Wroth to these puffins, beaking in the beakless place
Breaking into the breakless place, the face
That smiles between ages, the sages haste
To his fabled grace, his blood the greatest grape
His sap the wine of Spring, his lap the lamb’s nape
His lance the rape and ruin of complacent evil
Wicked cities will teem with the windblown dust of denizens
Nazarene rising to a Tangerine Dream.
Alchemisland 
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