The Sum of Ages

No paper trail

A hail of ash as we set sail, destined to fail

and sink beneath the pale blue ocean.

A thousand fathoms of brine slips down like wine,

confounds the divine enshrined in the belly of hell.

And who is to tell of treacherous, lecherous thoughts

that ought seek regression

when suppression comes to nought.

Not what we were taught. No.

Attitudes bought and sold from port to port.

Carbon copy filled with sloppy mistakes,

breaking concentration and will,

taking its fill of water and wine.

Leaving nothing save the line.

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