La plata

Such a story of women and their partners under the horizon of kin,

It would take a bottle to include so many errands, at traces of Nanking.

One was a Portuguese fisherman from the ancient Newfoundland, not

The female, Jail key and femme fatale, explosively out of her social orbit,

As her fox overcloud shouted to every single sea people drinking a shot.

Why are you so vain fallowing me around only to laugh from my past?

Which has been gone, La Plata never to cross my path, again in pain,

As ever, refusing your ermine stoles to love your body loose, the counterblast.

A crow landed on a table and said quietly,

And not a soul produced a sound, misteriously.