Horn and Hum-Drum

a dry devil's claw twisting in late winter's sun
imagining Denmark with a lover to walk with
grim Baltic shore to knee deep sphagnum damp
stumbling upon a picnic for Beowulf and his bugaboo
sword sheathed in flank like a shipped oar
secure and ready for storms



a swan above in star-etched light
bathes the dancers in the desert's night
on true love's wings then they take flight
hearts singing with all nature's delight



pour one part blood and one kerosene over ice
it's a fine spring for a dead Russian
sprinkle their skull fragments like wedding rice
these barbarians rolling dice
from their frozen forests barely civilized
let's show them the true price
of fucking around with Paradise™



Los created a globe as it were
so spake the Blake about these matters
a simulation theory's for
coffee shop mental masturbators
Solipsism in a frock
might as well stimulate a rock
love it up and either way
you've got a stone at the end of the day



he's everything she never wanted
drunk and silly and full of shit
this isn't what she dreamed of no
at least not how she remembers it
this shabby hairy smelly beast
roaring madly at the East
a veteran of nothing but rum and loss
she dresses his wounds and pays the cost