Note the helplessness of the bird when it's gaze is fixed upon the glittering eyes of the serpent
Together we're making cartwheels and some reeling shadow wants to cloak the fringe and innit
Where
we've been flying (two words and one lie) like I love you, also, insisting that there's no distance too crude
for the wild / knowing how to dream true is a skill like ruthless
Pilgrim. No nation is likely to make up the story that its ancestors had been slaves but then again it's
the greatest myth there is to justify the serpent, then again it straightens the spine like Leroy Jenkins' regal ghetto violin, then again it didn't recoil
