his eclecticism his blueprint my saviour
from the daily grind
i stand enraptured by my chanced-upon epic
find of wails that weave between
his jungle of ingenious bass
staring out of glass nourished
i hear him bravely make his political
case while the other zombies remain
heavily under the spell previously cast
he has helped me break my mechanical
fast am i inside or outside?
i think of all these as the lights teleport the listening one
to join the only essential tribe
that seems to be missing its only son
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