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69 The deference – Of the bee that gives honey And stings too Place What’s this allegiance, near religious To find you, our umbilical cord ? We have, we must, come back Seems the verdict from Epasa Moto The rock we must push Up to our grace – and grave On you, this garden No corn we planted Still, we must return When tend you, we can’t Identity Crisis I curse, I hail This Satan of God You demon or deity in control Two heads of a coin, nay, birds of a feather? I seek to find the master or the servant – in whom? The great reductionist From your throne – Giving and taking all life Object of my hate, can’t have you Hope of my dreams, love you to death 70 Do you come through putrid paths paved with gold but bearing thorns? Are you this bundle of joy, Comfort on the breasts of this woman, once barren? Money, who, what indeed are you? The Trail The sweat of fathers and mothers Past and present Lodged in overseas havens By any means thinkable It would scream, if it could talk Being made a roller-coaster Like the clamour of they Who expect their money Back, Any day, anyhow, after all By any Western means ...

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