Of an age such that
Raging river hasty
Finally assuages.
No more will I like a wild spring glaive some hidden glade in the Swabia
No more am I the geese-shadowed Ganges, hungry for burnt bodies
I am a puddle of muddled language, petrol-pastelled
I am a fruit pastille choking a kestrel
I am Thoth’s prolapsed asshole.
Alchemisland 
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