Whistleblower Angels
dwellings of myriad ragtag!
over the fluid moors I salute you
not hoping to see you again
till treasure of divine tings and syllables
greets the new dawn of calming noise
in shadowy slumber we remain
vaporizing as trees fall down
endlessly and expressly
averting a salvation
down the spiral of empty skulls
anarchist moods and petty pains
man is a silly thing made of flesh
not giving a damn in this mess
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