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The pilot weaves his plane
above the planet earth,
a stolen jewel.
The midnight moon’s a den
To hide a band of star eyed robber fools.
As coachmen pull their wagons
full of golden lies
to wet the taste, strip the purse
and tease the tired eye,
The King my turn his bows
arched upward towards the sky,
but like angels counted on the heads of silver pins,
they drown in the infinite round of earthly spins.
Rainbows lit the forest
Laid now in pallid dusks of feudal law.
A dog chained by fire,
Listen,
His star eyes beam and glisten.
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