Polishing the Throne

 

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Open your mouth

Let the sunshine rattle your teeth

Open your ears

Let the clouds contain your thoughts;

 

We speed through the American night.

We crawl through the American day.

We have been charged like convicts.

We swallow palatable truths.

 

What does it tell us

When our greatest poet is

Dead and Canadian?

The throne is empty.

 

Buck up, Despair, there’s a lottery

To see who gets to shine

The 14k seat of it.

They sell tickets down at the liquor store.

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