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Ghosts of a time


Trammelled in a passage

of rusted thorny nails

feet scoured and crimson

marooned amid cloying miasmas

where a febrile pulse

pounds in flaming arrhythmia

to cudgel gilded times

artfully on a scaffold

of smiles and crooked fangs

before the monstrous bellow

of strident, magnetic masses.

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