No animals will live
Rivers will be dry
The rotund seal will snap
Eager vultures will show
The sacred spring is stained red with lust.
Our seedlings bake on the rocks
Fresh leaves wither in pain
The black-robed virgins ate here, hot-eyed,
Breathing agony, prowling with parted lips.
I hear their voodoo dance to soothe
And melt the hurt strains of their trance.
They’ve come to mourn the spectral eunuchs of the shrine
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