On Lunar Dunes

Blown mind slaves
Upon the midnight hour
In static
Gone mad
Lost in medicine chants
Worshiping a liquid moon
On lunar dunes
No ordinary world
A rotting deity
Plays maracas
Underneath a crystal
About children of
Cat people
With chatoyant eyes
Yet alluring

Calling out lissome beings
From in-between the mortar
Of an evocatively bricked 

All standing
In a crooked line
Two by two
By two
Outside a rod iron gate
Made of smog

The entrance
To the final realm
Between reality
And the devil's playground
That most lack the wherewithal
Made of fool's gold
To pay the cover fee

Β©James Dennis Casey IV

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