Cy Twombly by Campfire

When the silky firelight’s done
A number on our outlines
For a spell you look like Cy
Twombly spills his midnight
Grass and minerals run these hazy hills
Hear their slinky laughter drift
In to milky firelight
Versed in every spin of Old English
Topple two pod inkdish
Rolls the Rorschach legged inkfish
Inside, in Cy,
Clo pah di
Botanica
Cy Twombly spills his coffee
Who do you shake your ledgers at me
When the silky firelights done
A number on our outlines