Flee, Thou Matadors! mewithoutYou

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FERDINAND [VIII]:
You the coverclouds in a midnight sky
I, a little snowflake waxwing high
Erring on the delicate side:
Who can mark the hour our soul sick friendships die?
MARIA [the pious]:
Ever felt like Noah on an overcast day?
David, take down your harp and play
FERDINAND:
You hatched your little plan when the first fell through?
The wicked in you ran, though none pursued!
MARIA:
You’re toeing a precarious line
[momentary taste of almost unmediated mind]
Silk shirt for a sackcloth king---
David, take down your harp and sing!
FERDINAND:
Clockwork drama in a Josten’s ring
Ever on the verge of catastrophe…

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King of Spain, Queen of Portugal
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MARIA [the mad]:
I ran to the sea but the sea wouldn’t hide me
The oceans agree there was no one to hide!
Will my story give way to the weight of its gravity?
~self-appointed-cop-and-spokesman-of-the-end-times~
FERDINAND [to the smell of blood]:
Knockneed step and a bent-back spine
No sense of direction besides...
MARIA [unfazed]:
Patterns in the clouds over lake Cascade!
Message in the sounds of the Air Force planes!
[offers claims on an extravagant scale in
Elaborate (if laminated poster board) display about chemtrails]
Tinky’s harp on the wall next to Janis Joplin!
FERDINAND [intoxicated with purple]:
Man, I coulda sworn that I saw
The cosmos in the livestock straw...
MARIA [neither pious nor deranged]:
Early cartography sea creature dragon and all?