silt is sand and sand is silt
let them ride it out like
Shelley & Keats

romantics  deep in that sand
because if they had sunk
the toes into the fleshy
parts and more then I must

confess that they would
tell on them selves
they who were

true were wild
like wolves
without apology,
and they died
exactly so

Xactly so shall
they all true souls
pay blood  to the
witness, seeing is all you have

you must be a laugh
the one with the wings too survive
when camps happen

camps are coming
for me and for you
if you don't see it

it still don't stop
the mein campf