Gather the old Austrian kings for the feast of shadows
Flickering cast daylight in the black run Viennese mirrors
Reflecting the fires of old worlds
And the arbitrary strokes of a modern fame
Some superficial imposition of meaning
Refracted in the sheer glass panes
Holding delicate the city of dreams
In careful placement of the genuine sense
The truest sadness in slipping youthful grace
In the chase for freedom quite material
The fluency of objects
An irrelevancy of walls
No more the towering billows of oppression
Rather as the wisdom
Surrender the things of youth with grace
And the delicacy of all you’ve become
Will settle in the meniscus of thy balloon glass
A myriad of colors mentioned in the chameleons of sky
And running down the curved white walls
Like a water branded in feminine poise
Thy sobriety an ontological intoxication
An elegance of malaise and lethargy
In the boredom of the pieces
Stroked by the passion of an ambitious man
Giving gesture and a rose to the unicorn
As a metaphor of ego
Enclosing the mystery of jewels
That adorned and garnered His retention
Thank God for all you’ve found
Out from a wild Arabian night
Dancing with the gypsies who’d wandered the deserts
No more my lovely
The aged oil which fueled our manic drives
Sat outside our romance and sparse stomachs
For the visage of a storm would enclose us in our artistry
The poesy of a vegetarian dish
Held with care like a violin against the clavicle
And the hand which fed thy soul
A bow like the archer’s mane
Empty of the hunt
And out of reach of the regal dogs
Blessed with God in their souls
And trolling their white tablecloths
As they leave their feast for the light
Trill the strings of their appearances
Leave Grace to the silent night
