Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Sir Shadow

Sir shadow, you drunk
Sir Shadow, you mean
and crazy man
Sir Shadow, you hopeless shoe lacer
you angry defacer
Sir Shadow of mine
you black valentine
swing from the wing with a ghosty divine
Sir Shadow, you hopeless
reminder of loss
comic trickster of heaven
Byzantium’s loss is
a place where nothing of import
gives into dull hymns
or nudged the sweet need of sorts
Sir Shadow, it’s now
in the cinnamon dark

when I drink to the owl
to the falcon, the lark
and the music still hovers
like a family of sorts
Sir Shadow, the sum of 
my disparate parts
gets childy and needy and
begs for the stars
the  way to lace upward
the wayfaring boot
send me on to the place
and dig me my root

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