Tuesday, August 31, 2010

The Sky Is Indifferent To the Earth

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Oxen of the Sun 393

We are dressed to be cozeners
Meddling with the shit of the faithful
In feathers we dance, a remedy for whispering
Would we full and rear to show our
Sweet smoky religion
Our faith slapped and licked and put on display
For another to shed this word
Our wrists rubbed in gold and oil
Thanks comes to the emperor bare as his women
They turn down this road and bellowing
Make bargains with this daisychain world
But that I had only taught one more ravishing trick
I would not be playing with these dung-blessings
Nor the fodder of the world.

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