In part a complex
circuit of veins tense
rushing vile blood
through the tip of his toe
coursing through to arteries
of his hand almost human
godlike, an axis
the way a tree's root
breaks through cement
unaged like the winds
that once he drew for ransom
the fallen morning star
pure as earth
fixed as the solitary dreamer
sated by the invisible, the unshut
doors of the night
constantly prodding, scheming
through city's streets in vane
always returning through ports of call
downtrailing to his undergound sea
of platinum, silver, and gold.
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