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Click hereIt's not for us to judge,
The ceremony of others,
We want to be a Shaman,
When we grow up,
A group Shaman,
With trademarked© thin lips,
We ride into town in dust,
Mysteriously concealed in our pockets,
This is not science,
It is dust,
Concealed in our pockets,
~Rider~
Avoid conjunctions,
But, do not ignore them,
Treat them as unwelcome guests,
A consequence,
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,000 poems.
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