Clad Id


Hungry, hobbled burros brayed discordant songs,
Slowly, driving squatting, nervous strangers mad,
Night sounds accelerating imagined wrongs.
Flame ringed aboriginal elders, sat unclad,
Bassos droning votive mysteries to prolong
An eerie aura. Dissonant monotones had
Jangled nerves as never a Joplin sing-a-long...
Collective id, pre-history music's writing pad.


--H. Arlequin   

   
 
  

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