A Copenhagen night, drunk.
Reeling under sodium lights.
Tame shadows stain the hand -brushed lawn.
When the feral white sun
first strikes the chilly, brooding walls
of Vestre Prison, at dawn
We will set sail for an abbey
out West. We'll raid the monastic
boys, the ones in glasses.
We'll have dope and cash in our vests,
lure them with booze and sex, then
leave them alone to regret having met:
Two Vikings on a Quest.
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