His Name is Clue Me In Now by Craig Rogers

On 
His rail road track built by the hands of prophets 
On 
His back-up right hand for policy makers and sorcery 
On 
His feet tapping distortion to standing pillars 
On 
His red coat pocket washed on marble with lye 
On
His bird seed for feebleness and futility 
On 
His volunteer work for unwritten melodies 
On 
His mortar and eggplant purples in pressure cookers 
On 
His ocean blue drenched in Yule flowers and autumn memories 
On 
His essences that sound out in wind chimes 
On 
His lamenting in October in sure-footed sandals 
On 
His pencil and paint sprinkles for pillow cases 
On 
His stethoscope stopping the heartbeats of rattlers 
On 
His punch bowl with turpentine and turtles 
On 
His complementary magenta fur coat and black hat 
On
His nauseous nectar in nectarines 
On 
His voice inching to the toilet bowl and window vase
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