Laissez-Faire Ballad

Fashion your skin

over my blade

"Chaucer! CHAUCER!" -

Haberdash and cascade.

The sky is a saunter;

the stars all soirée.

A heart splits asunder -

the grave masquerade.

She lay almost waste,

aimless gaze musing

like mesa laying pale under moon.

Her obsidian eyes screaming sweet lullabies

as sullen lips had brought rapture to rune.

"O good Moon please grow arms and lull me to sleep"

said her silent tongue

a-choke

under virtuous weep.

The lunar judge above judges

could but scowl from the sky.

Nudge cloak back over shoulder

and turn a blind eye.

"O but good Sun, surely you, would not leave me to rest"

Swift flame thrashed the horizon -

Helios' horses detest.

Shoulders shrug, smirk sardonic -

the Sun had tried his best.

And as the clouds congregate

and strip-tease to the Heavens,

revealing fanciful murder to swine.

Ten-thousand maniacal suicide-birds

dive-dirty-bomb her last words

as the Gods laugh and pour out their wine.

de Roi TROUILLE.