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• Artiste: The Red Alaskan Malamutes
• Titre: November
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My friend is tracking his personal ratio of humanity to the divine It's held steady at infinity for a month or two now, in spite of all his trying To suppress it, or correct it, with those temporary tattoos The prayers keep falling off his skin, the wolves just eat the moons He has to try and amputate, that'll do it, he remembers You seeming to imply that course when you saw him in November There's a panther crooning Virgil at the gates of the Emerald City He'd kill the guards and storm the place but his singing is too pretty We're in Sonora sitting around a napkin holder in the Serbian Christmas Cafe Listening to the broadcast beamed through the glowy desert rain We're waiting for him to trail off, to hear the city burned to embers, To hear that messenger manifest his heavenly November Philomene sits and dreams of holodecks filled with nightingales in flight Electrons on their tongues their voices banded through with light She is lovely, sweet and stranded, like a balsam in the snow A revolver in her off hand like a silhouetted gull I love her but she talks too much, so I'm flying home to Denver I have to drink out all the things I heard about your trip there in November