***
We are under the masters
be sensible ye the ones
with the broken backbone ‒
the being is selection, a series,
a farandole, a parade of falsifiers.
The false with the false breaks
the back of your neck the most
disgusting man and the shadow
the splendid song of the soul
there remains a lamentation
let the ones taller than you
pass over you, you are stairs.
You are no more an ugly memory.
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