Medieval Offices
we pick ice cold truths on a hot summer day
tombstone gray and nuclear white crushed prism cubes we choose ice old truths
we’re tired of immortality
we’ve tried immorality and torn truculence
so we just dig for virile apocrypha to bury
deep cold rush brings good news to our faces faster than fury
it’s the shape of a fable but how can we tell ?
I love this, especially the last line. I love every line really, but the last one just sent a jolt through me. Apocrypha. You know a lot of fancy words I have to look up.
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This is Kate with a new identity, by the way.
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