The sun outstretched its arms, draping them over the odious podium,

its violet and gold garb flowing through the second wind of the hope and opium,

swatting that gnats around the slimy cabinet, suffocating the needled camel,

“_Weary_!” He mouthed to the red stained men, and the blue-souled damsels,

The hollows howled with cheer and jeered, and took the mark with joy,

and clapped and clasped their lips to ass,

lies put to death their worries,

and shine did he, the burried sun,

to seas and sand — to nothing up above!

And laughed did he, the burning sun,

when darkness fell in forms of love!