Thousands of gods in one place.
of what do they speak at night?
we listen closely, sneak along
museums walkers by birthright
The city is sinking
built on a lake
swamp of sacrifices
She craves her tole in concrete weight
In the secret house of Frida
open to All
new expressions open
floating from the blue walls
On the pyramids I ponder
the Sun and the Moon
but mostly I pray to the Rainbow
and the Jaguar god of old
The city is sinking
and so am I
as you must in a cradle of creation
melting together blood and lust
with high tempered dreams
of what we might become
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