Why would you shake your feathers at me
When the silky firelight's done
A number on our outlines

For a spell you look like Cy
Twombly spills his midnight

Grass and minerals run these hazy hills
Hear their slinky laughter drift
In to milky firelight

Versed in every spin of Old English
Topple two pod inkdish
Rolls the Rorschach legged inkfish

Inside, in Cy,
Clo pah di
Botanica
Cy Twombly spills his coffee

Who do you shake your ledgers at me
When the silky firelights done
A number on our outlines