Seasons fall short as she celebrates wine and rejoices in its carnage.
Logistically speaking, we were miles away from Tripoli,
Somewhere near the edge of the desert when the barstools began to sink and the drugs began to take hold.
Amongst the indecent, Intolerant citizens of three,
Your name rings silent but Bustrophedonically.

TaXXXed like the Phoenicians, I meandered aimlessly,
True to form halted norm of reality.
Prelude thee of nomenclature and I without sin
“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the ******* towers of Ilium?”


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