Caveats to Bronze

Into the west I clear the path-
I bury sticks beneath the ground;
Without a hilt I fight the past-
I manifest in words that won;

I clip my wings before the clouds,
I steal the tide without a sound.

I fry my scabs in southern suns;
I drain my pus in northern ponds;
I feed the sturgeon dark as night-
In orange moons I spit my wine.


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