consider these solipses:

measured, carried steeples 

round a brined Mary 

suspended in the plasma 

of hapless, desperate donors 

centrifugal refugees

all unknown behind glass

this is a king's country:

a throne grown too small 

phagocyclic in the flesh

bedsores in the shape of sin 

and

lead of goblets held within

my crucifix is a bullet

made from ...

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