If I could take a brush and paint the moors and the celeste aquamarine I would splash the hillsides black and daub the sky in deep mazarine. Except an earthly corner with firepit, where Five pieces of zelkova in a barrel tin can covered with rust Five failures wishing the nocturnal eternity in delightful gust So we drink like kings, like sultans, like Irish pundits of joy
Scops owl rhythmically hooting at night so gentle Then we cuss and urinate in the air ornamental The smoke follows the handsome, they said. Dionysus traveled to the ancient East thine night Beautiful it is, though we see nothing but our faces dimly bright
A farewell to the good ol’days. Our only days! Salute to fathers sleeping late for better days! So long! So long!