Kingdom of supernatural bandits,
Too large for a body to own,Too small to confine a body in for life,
What are your resources today
Between the demonic playground
And the austere gate of heaven?
A goldfinch in a scrub oak
Under blue thunderheads and silver
Angels made mute by unbelief
Appears as a flash to the last
Bandit scholar from the Capitol,
Marooned here and resentful
At the remarkable good fortune
Of a well-besieged existence.
He swings on his heels, exclaims.
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