voices motley say
plain as pike staff this
the boss aint
got no threads on
bare as the day
he got born
shouting out orders
to us illiterates
in greek
in latin
unknown tongues
Teal unreal
on that charred
Hard clay night.
Thinks: worms lap
sun-drenched blood
On midday grass
No buttercups grow there.
True iguana weather: no cicadas.
Another good skin shed.