Be me the weed monarch

Find me her savior to whip me good

Like I am his last masochist

Tied in silver hawser

I will wood his pyre

To moonlight the ciders

Of my thousand shelves

Crocked in tiny solitary strips

Crown me the weed monarch

Remind me her savior is gone

Harping among happy devils

Digesting descendants of Krishna

While she taints my tongue in tears

Exalting me

In her hazy smoke song

Like a man scowling his rage

Oh make me his woman’s husband


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