We meet to climb the wooden pyramid
Seal the trunk looks on
We lay packs to backs
Balance on twin legs
Libra holds her balance out
Blinding yes to shutter the storm
Of charlatan ghosts
Ticking, clicking the meter’s heart
Weighed in the balance
Lacking psychic paths of metronome
Scale the unlit see
Dark yardsticks the light
Winding the salty taste of blood
Upon the fishmonger tunes.
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