Intrigue hindsights
And a maze of networks
Slithered through every alleyway
An Old World Away
The Anaconda slithers faster than the Bakunawa
And the Bakunawa streams through the sky on the way
Voyage to the 7th Moon
And the 8th remained a mystery.
All that gleamed and caused prism to crash
In sonic waterways
Where canals were prismed with trapezoid stone-tile.
Carved from the villages of mountain
Espainahda, long before there was any virtue
For a court to assemble.
Kings were a weary theory from another land,
And seemed mostly-made-up.
As if the One-Appointed just got Born-into-Greatness
And those Born-With;
Had already tamed the Isles of the Blessed
And Asphodel scents and weary rainshowers
And parked bugged-out cars seem to make
Any beetle colossal
To the little Cadillac,
And the Lincoln-Lover
Came exploring to find Goldbug
Washed up in the Sea with shells
That bore aphrodite being cracked open
By little weasels and otters and more.
Scallop necklaces and leche de tigre shots
And the Chinese brought hair-of-the-dog,
The Sober Kind,
The Ginseng Shot.
Energy Elixir,
Ubiquitous Vanisher,
And darked-hailed hero
From barrio to calle to menazzae
Somehow have known,
That we all heard the same history
Spread round the world,
Shared by pan dulce + cafe.
They didn’t print those ones in the News.
It didn’t quite exist yet;
Unless you played an instrument.
Or took the Ball to the Tour to Dance,
With another Crowd – that had never heard your sound before.
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