A little Less Panache

a little less panache.

each window breaks it's fingers for the comming of the lord.

I have found the shield uncertain as I am.

riding horse-back with the vinegar and chive

alive and well with imbecile and child.

am tiger-wild with a thimble for a friend.

no rivers end

no two halves ever shaped as lovers crossed.

what shape of air I breathe beneath a wave?

I am a water-colour slave with a wooden leg.

I have never learnt to fly

nor dare I pick the mercy of a stain.

many a time

either eight or ten

tho my nine lives suck the words of something more.

I am told of death in the cold arms of a tree.

my friend. my spine. my mouth of a thousand chords.

my lord no more a junkie up a tree,