The story of Red Sinatra

The type of thing

We call the heir

Apparent to the throne

Of Red Sinatra

Is not the one we call

The lone

But the blow of time


It does not matter how they lose

Or where they come a-chanting

But if they know the un-white seat

There are no blows a-chanting!

This is not why they do not know

They cannot see the runner

They do not know and cannot see

The writing on the reader

Side of pale moon walking like

Nymphomaniac on the green of yellow pulses

Like you and me here

On the red side of mooney and mere where

They do not know it

But they see why in the moon

And atmosphere of red and blue

Where no one doth sleep

But they do know it is not right

To do it here in the end of it too

Where it does not know it but it does

Sum it in the moonshade of left and right again.


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