...And Stars, Stars...

The stars protest at being enclosed in medallions of white frost
to adorn the necks of scarecrows.
The stars like to dance, jump, spin, skedaddle, lose their way, but they
   don't like to vegetate in medallions.
Their golden blood coagulates,
and they miaow lamentably like sick cats.
Sick, sick, sick, moans their blood.
They feel like animals on litters.

The scarecrows spit their seeds into their tears.
The flowers deflower the flowers.
The scarecrows spit their tears into their seeds.
The stars deflower the stars.
And stars, stars surge up,
stars with beetle-bodies,
hot claws,
organ-eyes,
stars spread their tails displaying a fan of fire-feathers.
The scarecrows wear seductive garments dazzling with velvets, silks,
   damasks.
Covered with embroideries, adornments of marvelous richness like a
   caparison in a tournament,
golden top hats with diamond weather vanes,
brooms of ivory and ebony.
Their necks are adorned with medallions of white frost enclosing stars.

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