ACE CANNONS' CANON
Through the morning, shimmering with colors that wavering, fade
from a desert where heat is a hue, and history's due
cactus and trees, knotted and sparse, a portrait some mad god must'f bade
into being, into the "Otherwise Sane"; set apart from the world, lived in by you
dust lays 'pon the ground, puffs upwards with...
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