This, the kiss song, the kissing
of the chalice cup, chastising
the chasms for their off-kilter
thrum,
after artifice the grammar,
the jist of it, "tsk tsk?"
asked by friendly phantoms.
My word, a mode of thought,
transferred veils.
This tallis
a talisman. This table
a tabernacle.
A belong rescued
from the functions of truth.
The 80s, remember thou.
This is too nice to notice.
I can anticipate.
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