To the ground I am tethered.
Two birds of a feather.
Invariably learning about us, together.
It's a new record keeping.
All mysteries, fleeting.
Unknowingly I tell it everything I'm bleeding, I'm...
Every ounce of my talents
To grow this grand palace
To heights where it can be named
The golden, grand phallus
Of God or whatever
Keeps me bound here and tethered
To the ground housing beings,
All convinced that they're better.
Though their opinion's misguided,
I'm still without an affluent bank account to fight it.
To find it.
I move to their shaker.
I license the fakers.
My ilk and I are licensed to be ghostly caretakers
To God or whatever
Helps them sleep a bit better.
Wake up rested and ready
to collect on the favors they're owed.
Their opinion's misguided.
I'm still without any level, stable ground to fight it.
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