what can it be that draws me back to here?
the ailing pork of reindeer eyes still sleeps inside my mood
as countless jaws around my fire of early morning greed
bound over by - and silenced by - our laws of elbow seed;
why is it so that all aboard this field of friendly wire
we drag our bayonets inside our trench coats as we tire?
is it all about the prune juice as it reigns above our crawl?
perhaps we are the cotton reel who now sleeps beneath a shawl;
our mourning for the headless shrimp who died upon the hook
our tailored shirts still soaked with blood we thought his brother took
but here we are again above the rise and fall from grace
dressed as porcupines as we pillage from beneath our fathers face;
like cattle being slaughtered with a poisoned caviar
what can it be that draws me back to here?
the weaving cutlass dancing through the veins of sugared plums?
or the beating of the fox tail as it beats upon our ever scrambled tongues;
kill or be killed! eat or heave between the breasts of mothers earth
plough through her shield of mangled mandarin for apples worth
a ton of silver stardust worth far more than any prayer would dare concede
bring drink, good cheer and roses with a thousand kisses for our frozen chicken feed;