Darker nights are coming in
tanned ankles are being hid by simple wool
The full moon sweeps up
reflective eyes and songs of wolves
Wind will carry them, as whistles blow
And shoulders are swallowed by crocheted shawls
The moon is nigh’
As is fire and electric light.
How far have we spun from our oaken dens?
From hunting in mud and sleeping in caves
To our detriment; tools for fracking are increasing
Even if we did replace feathered birds with metal ones to carry us
We’ll never, ever learn to fly, or to keep from our tombs
This is ongoing global warming
everyone taking, adding
shoplifters in every (a)isle, cameras watch blind
Panic drips as will regret like an unfed school of fish
in a tarpaulin pond of an abandoned yard
Farewell promise lands, we sobered-drunk with overuse
We’ll be the aliens the filmmakers and theaters warn us of
We’ll be the good guys who didn’t get there in time
Someone cares, hell do I?
I’m drinking rum at/or/with the Buena Vista Social Club