Gold Mastercard buys timeless words;

Sun sets on gyneocratic fruitlessness.

I listen to the bird to find the sun.

I listen to the sound behind closed doors,

scratching the soles of your shoe.

Let him have it for justice;

I sensed a fox in my hollow lounge.

Nothing so warm on a cold day,

as a smile.

The sun oppresses, like governments;

like justice; like men.