canoes to shore,
Full of men, tall
and fair, wearing wool
on their faces, with
boils and lesions
on the skin underneath.
They smell of salt and
old, dead detritus.
Their clothing is thick
and they speak as if their
tongues are too large.
Upon great, one-clawed,
hairy dragons they ride,
like a single beast with
two heads. With their
scales of mirrors they
carry great blades of the
same, celestial material.
In tubes they make both
Thunder and Lightning,
they can strike a
man from many arms away,
and turn him pale like
the woolen-faced birdmen.
Since the fair, tall
men have come
many have succumbed
to their mirror blades,
thunder tubes, and
the lesions that
they wear on their face.
The Birdmen are here to stay,
while
we
dry up and fall away,
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