|Mostly traditional, decorative art.|
-The Moritat of Mr. Jourdain--The Moritat of Mr. Jourdain- by *RivkaZ
Things were different then
in the days of the Tar and the Poppy,
from smoked lamps in the alley
he came amongst them
wearing their skins.
Dear Mr. Jourdain,
the hunter, the bluebeard
out of the north to the docks he came loping,
the timbre of kisses on a honey-black grin.
He gilds them with his eyes,
scarred lip contemplative,
clothed interest half-quivered,
(crooked as razors is his angel-winged grin!)
Like lambs, their wide
blue gazes recipient
welcome him in.
He's a butcher-shop prospector,
pinching a cheek
here, a calf, there--
for the firmness, the smell
of raw frozen skin
hanging loose as plucked turkeys!
The swine bulk
staying cold in the deep under clandestine clays.
These boys, these lovely boys!-
He offers them praise,
fine watches, he growls,
and tightens their ribbons,
such ribbons, my dear.
Fine boys kiss the band;
the soft slave rope that ties-
kiss its softling-dark velvet,
|GhostAlice and RivkaZ's "Sixpenny Opera"|
|Please do not send me llamas. |
I am a conscientious llama objector.