The warm wise pretender
Propped up by the night,
Suckled by the fairweather nannygoats,
Leans against his failing wisdom

Talking with the salty truant boy
On the downy goosefeather
That solemnly covers
The secret patchwork night

Savagely he waxes dropping
Surely into the patchwork blush,
Waiting while the endless dance
Quietens the flaring stallion

Impatiently the bones of farmhands
Blaze lazily in praise of the fishers of men
Crested while they speak
Solemnly to the light grey sea diving birds

Dying slowly he goes
Unsurely into the webfoot cobbled streets,
Drowning while they harshly cover
The dumbfounded moonlit lovers

The hazy kings of the eyes
Hang slowly in praise of dusk
Laughing while they lie
Raging against the  youthful salmon

And the ragged bones in rotting flesh
Of the slow viperish laden shipwreck,
Trot merrily with danced out nannys
who walk no more with kings nor pretenders

Slowly he dies needling
Into the jolly eyes,
Burning while they rave
Against the tear-splashed leaves

And the girls of the horses
Lie quietly in praise of the pretender
Limping while they sing
Loudly into the cold.

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