Phaedrus

Underneath the chaste tree we settled
Far from the city’s walls
The voice in your ear, was keeping you near me
But soft, love, the sly wind calls…
While a wrestler, like good Iago, wonders
Writing, writing like a man possessed
We chased each other in the oat
A wolf pup and a billy goat
Your love of truth, my tender youth
Two pennies for the riverboat

Well, gods bless St. James the Supplanter
Bless him with a paper mask
The walk in the wheat, the soles of our feet
The violence of the village, so soft and discreet
All those questions you had to ask…
No I’m hanging from the hospital and howling
From Liverpool to New Orleans
“My baby’s dead today!
“My baby’s dead today!
“My baby’s dead, my baby’s dead!
“My baby’s dead today!”

You stabbed at the silence of speeches
You turned my wolf-head ‘round
Sharp as a saber, sweet as a fig
With the smile of a child and the nose of a pig
Now you’re six feet underground
Yes, Two and Three went down to the graveyard
But only Four came back
It must have been the poison (son)
It must have been the medicine
The dialogue, the train we’re on
They’ve gone and took my only one!

Well, of the rails I was raised up
And off them I was happy to stay
But the inkwell twisted, we never resisted
I should have known that you never existed
How that madman scribbles and strays
But when I die they can bury me barefoot!
You can dig my grave with a pottage spoon!
Because I’ll be riding on the chariot
You know two horses carry it
Across the pit, I’ll paint it red
A-hunting in my lover’s fit!