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Born of the earth;
He is a feast for the human soul.

His father is a velvet fungus,
who invented the cult of domesticity.

His mother is pregnant
with crisp autumn nights,
and speaks to him in
the language of the
sun and the moon.

He lives in ancient waters,
with the singing oracles
of passion, pain and pleasure.

He drives the heartland express
and his air freshener smells like musk.

He collects squished whispers from your ceilings,
and feeds them to you until Sunday morning
comes to take him back.