ambrosia is in the eye of the beholder.

alone

a waif

so small

so naif

brown hair

in braids

brown eyes

up raised

one palm

up turned

one cent

hard earned

stale bread

day old

hard crust

and cold

"it's yours.

it's free."

"thank you,

kindly."

in the aluminum bog

when i was a younger man,
and plywood fish swam free,
we'd catch 'em and skin 'em all we want -
build a house in every tree.

you know trees are made of aluminum -
you know they get cold at night,
but nice little bit of plywood
keeps a body warmed just right.

plywood fish aplenty to build with,
sawed with teeth of diamond dogs,
sealed right up with potato glue -
that was life in th'aluminum bogs.

but life's so different today, son,
hardly anyone lives out here now,
'cept for you and me and your mother,
along our aluminum bough.

all the plywood fish went to houses.
all the diamond dogs went to saws.
glue taters won't grow in the dry land
that was once th'aluminum bog.

and that's why we're leaving now, son,
why we're climbing down outta this tree.
there's nothing left here for us --
for you, or your momma, or me.

a merry funeral pyre

i put a blanket around my heart

it's thick

like your face

and sticky

like paste

and i put it on tight

it'll be there all night

the blanket around my heart

into the woods i go

they're dark

like your face

and sticky

like paste

and the branches are tight

i'll be there all night

into the woods i go

hedgehogs dance round the fire

the little one sings

what a sad joy she brings

flames lick low boughs

it's a forest fire now

hedgehogs dance round the fire