And everyone is left thirsting.
The time has come to move on.
We wind our way
Through some dark café
Like a November chill
On a September night.
And snapping at our bare heels
Is the beast
Who guards the gate
At the well of the worlds.
And deep inside its starry gut,
Crashes the wave of a ragtime epiphany,
And uncertain acts
Of ambiguous duality.
True sailing never died.
Instead, it burrowed -
Into the salty crevices of
Our mind and spirits,
Brains and hearts,
Until sweet bloody spring.
And my god, the ice is melting…

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