Casa Poetica

For Hans

The patron saint of Lost Poets laughs

Smoke surreal in the sacred sun

Unmasking kindred madness 

Recognizable from a subversive plane of my existence 

(The soldiers are there for me, too)

Mystic grandfather of the underground prophets 

I lay bouquets of phrases at your feet in gratitude and veneration 

As we weave destinies and laugh into the void 

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