And a Pot Belly Laugh

and a pot belly laugh

with a sweet taste of mustard

shall ride the plough of land of sea

three miles afar

at god's own speed

and pay no heed more glorious than death.

the fat of the land

the water and the bible

three brides of equal temperament

each with steady hands

will sow each seed

and pay no heed more glorious that death.

in this dour age of concrete steel and rage

under a saltmarsh sky

each wound now packed with glycerine and soil

for all who shall remain

taller than a scaffold to the stars

bring praise for the naked warriors retreat.

and he who has no soul

no eyes to see the glow worm as it sparks

their bed of grapes for the water and the heart

the flood of spring

married to the drowning calf

to walk no more the red clay of his love.

and he who has no mothers milk

will drink again the waters of the heart

while the meadows, caged and quarantined

all blood is theirs

too many sounded things

to walk no more the red clay of his love.

at gods own speed

we pay no heed more glorious than death;