The worship of gold in a public place

Nishka (Shaya), she is flat
She wrote (she peed) in yellow ink
on Grainwave Hill (He knows:
she let Him watch)
She rode a Palomino mare
and though her twitching tail shook
for me, I’d rather mount the horse
dance it round around the ring
under my red riding crop
while she stands blushing, languid,
absent, urine running down her legs
everybody either stares
(it’s not her tatts they photograph)
or soddenly capitulates
in uterine dependency
Always wanting base relief
they pray expectantly for dust

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