Dear reader, you’ve stumbled on the hideout!
Gaunt words in tattered blankets sit by a fire and talk of home.
Already you’ve seen and heard too much!
Now, you must choose: either go back, blindfolded,
a sack of coins ‘neath the pillow at dawn —

or join with us!  Strengthen our worn limbs with your own!
Patch our torn garments with your smile.
Share with us the dear feast,
diamonds in the grass when you step out the door,
the sun a golden arrow.

You see these renegades a-foxing out the intrigues of the court.
We’ve escaped the slick receipts and guillotine screen.
We slipped past the billboard sentries, back to the woods’ embrace,
where we wait for days or ages in the jolly shade
to waylay the treasure-mongers, or pie-ass ones in heavy robes.

Have you seen our captain?  He’s gone more often now —
slipping over the wall with a bloom in his lips;
then padding back to camp at dawn,
fog in the dell muting the sun,
gauze over a newly bandaged wound.


Thor Bacon
Illustration Nick Victor


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