Strokes of smoke dance swifter than loyalty,
turning within a disordered sphere.
Soothsayers mutter, then utter, then jeer,
mocking empirical stains of royalty.
A concubine's hand now rattles a tail,
while Speech-spinners wipe away sweat from their visions,
of degenerate legs walking capitalist missions,
this concubine, baited, waits to exhale.
His mesmeric lips wear different coats each season.
Imams lust after apathetic inclusion.
Musk of muskets permeate daily illusion.
This concubine opens his door without reason.
In crossing this door man commits his treason.
Venom replace his water for ablution.
