Wouldya
“Wouldya
Would you love me dead, wooly, brushy, mad,
walking thru the graveyards
where vineyards all got burnt?
Would you love me hurt
in deserted land, behind the naked bush
Would you give me that push to the left,
inside the pure flash
swinging me over the rope of your pride?
Would you let me guide
us
to silver green Moons
while wolves and wild dogs hawl their tunes?
Wouldya?
Would you surrender me that spoon
to take out my beating heart
and hand it over to you
over the table in the crowded cafe
while people whisper ‘Who are those two?’
We are so glad not to be insane.
We are so glad, we haven’t passed our lives in vain! Oh! We did not!
Would you let me dive the oceans
and run all the green fields?
Would you leave me my shield to cover you up?
Would you hand that poisoned cup
of an average British tea
to me
Wouldya”