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The Wolf Bone Throne
02:33
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the belltoll swinging slow mollasses music bellows
the silver jingle after hour master keys to the fountain of youths
wide keepinghoop rusting and bright,
my pale palm beneath it
encircles the moon with cobwebs
Rainbathed trees making deals in the greywashed sweaty air
before a summerstorm at dusk
Every clor collected floods the Iris black.
The pale fountain of tragedy is drowning the garden
though flowering serpent vines slope the tree.
Pining for the pines,
im in the overdeveloped flatlands,
the heart-mirror forest curves are oh so distant but
there are heart-swelling women
in every direction and I will warm my highward cave
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