Who Carved These Runes

Who Carved These Runes

Captain Hook and me we wander in the bloomin’

trades looking for our leader, druid of the desert.

We’ve gathered round the rock telling rooster tales,

decomposing sermons to ourselves and feeling lonesome

scaley underfoot, for the dragon he’s beguiled us

since we ate of that imperfect deed of fruit.

“Ne me touche pas,” we think but it does and we are

falling through the cracks where we have built our

selves a tower for to see (blind mutants that we are)

the sea, the shadow line at least beyond the surf.

Oddsbodskinman, he surely should appear to us

for we must know who carved these runes.

At least we thought he ought, for we remember

his gardens as imperfect gifts that rarely ripen.