Sharing A Gibson With Martin Luther King, Jr.

All the leaves have turned to leather

I have lost faith in the spring

Withered like a dark balloon

Oh, I hear no robin sing



Ushered with the shower still

Oh, the rain falls off the leaves

And a rim of shady light

It forms these patterns on my hands



I can see your ring

Is it camouflaged or etched

Tell the king

To me this errand sent



To call such a hole

In the kingdom of the Lord

That we are afraid

Where there is no fear



Oh, he fell into a slumber

And did not wake until the dawn

To see a band of orange clouds

Cross the middle of the sky



Oh, he got into a fluster

He felt a tightening in his leg

With such finesse he waived a hornet

From a wine glass



And tiny fluffs of the feathered life

And you wander forth with your insolence and wine

To your fruitless mourn to them that cannot hear

And what the fuck am I doing here?



In the ghettos of Chicago

Amid the poverty and despair

Inside the game hens

Were the giblets in a plastic bag



A cocktail which consisted

Of his gin and her vermouth

Garnished together with the pearl onions

Dying eyes gleamed forth their ashy light



Tiny fluffs of the feathered life

And you wander forth with your insolence and wine

To your fruitless mourn to them that cannot hear