Flee, Thou Matadors!

You the coverclouds in a midnight sky
I, a little snowflake waxwing high
Erring on the delicate side
Who can mark the hour our soul sick friendships die?

Ever felt like Noah on an overcast day?
David, take down your harp and play

You hatched your little plan when the first fell through?
The wicked in you ran, though none pursued

You’re toeing a precarious line

Silk shirt for a sackcloth king
David, take down your harp and sing
Ferdinand
Clockwork drama in a Josten’s ring
Ever on the verge of catastrophe

King of Spain and queen of Portugal
King of Spain and queen of Portugal
King of Spain and queen of Portugal
King of Spain and queen of Portugal

I ran to the sea, but the sea wouldn’t hide me
The oceans agree there was no one to hide
Will my story give way to the weight of its gravity?
Self-appointed-cop-spokesman-of-the-end-times

Knock need step and a bent-back spine
No sense of direction besides

Patterns in the clouds over lake cascade
Message in the sounds of the air force planes

Tinky’s harp on the wall next to Janis Joplin!

Man, I coulda sworn that I saw
The cosmos in the livestock straw
Early cartography sea creature dragon and all?

King of Spain, our songs proclaim
That you’re queen of Portugal
King of Spain, our prayers in vain
Till you’re queen of Portugal

Owls now sail toward seas of Africa
Flee, thou matadors!
Courts of dandelions
Wars of oranges have conquered us