Exhausted by the Exchequer

In a fugue, young and old ,/compelled by dance, kayo the bottle/leaving chips of marble to their bastard sons. In those frozen rivers in New England they revile with glee/floating mute in the solo /are words in the hollow/they ring through he branches/ winds rage to snuff words/ that outline those plots and schemes/piled up behind barbed wire./They built here a pavilion and a colonnade/ adorned the mansions with solutions of junk /won wars while hypnotized/when the battles were over/in time for Spring / they craft a mercy seat. The exchequer’s bills on the walls, hidden scribble/concealed guesses on the price of ammunition. Doxies and floozies ply their trade/when the bell rings/they talk on phones with cakes of ice to soothe them

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