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Melancholia Aeterna
Reflections of Polaris,
cast through curving complex –
it is the driving prime.
We wander with new orientation,
as bleeding saints,
burned by Solaris.
Tribe of lay, of priest, of brave,
our only followers are dogs.
We catch our tears in cups,
and salt our meat,
smiling in tides of joy,
as the paleocortex ripples
with reptilian dreams.
On the bridge of the divided plane,
where life becomes death,
and beauty becomes water,
we live as roaming lions,
rending cities to ash.
Our kingdom is the broken wild.
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