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Sheepskin Coat

from Ice Eaters by Matt Oleksa

/

lyrics

Yalta, June
Bruised-up dusk
Hanged man and EAT CROW
In caps, in dust
On a hood inching over a ravine
Fog—
Mixed with smoke
White as milk
Peeling off the blackening sea in heaves
Soaking in setting sunlight
Cooling just right
Pressing against that distant night
Yalta, June, britzka, hay-smell, leather satchel and in it
A bat—no bigger than a copper
Nursing adjacent to a spider
In a pickle jar—spinning
And Vanka—rolling tobacco
In a recipe for cold cucumber soup
Struck match—burst of darkening blue shadow
Soaking in smoke
Mixed with lavender
Hung in vanilla
Stirred by coattails
Then breath like oranges
Peeled then squeezed then pressed against that distant night
Yalta, June, oak—on it—a platter
In it—a rook cracking into a crow
And what goes up also goes
Down, down, down, down again
What goes up also goes
Down, down, down, down again

Every time
I’m in my prime
She spills wine
On my cards stacked just right
“Hunger’s a sauce,” she says
“For the mostly lost,” she says
“But found enough
To grieve up an appetite”

But she can wear a sheepskin coat

Ties me tight
‘tween the black and white
With moonlight
Ice-bright with a hint of silk
Leaves me there
Goes and combs her hair
Goes and cuts a pear into cubes
And pours herself a glass of milk

But she can wear a sheepskin coat

Lone medallion
Struttin’ stallion
Etched in silver
Tugged then torn from my case
Gypsum nails
Cat-o’nine-tails
Man, she never fails
She's so hard, she makes me feel my second place

But she can wear a sheepskin coat

Hold your tongue, pitiful one
Don’t pretend you ain’t drawn to me
Song’s been sung, rag’s been wrung, flung, hung
Song's been sung (Hold your tongue), pitiful one
Don’t pretend you ain’t the one drawn to me
A little so the saints don’t know
Where I go
Saints don’t know
Where I go

Been here before
Marble floor
Cherry oak door
And all that familiar musk
Blue notes on a red guitar
Beluga caviar
Served in a hollowed-out
Diamond-studded rhinoceros tusk

But she can wear a sheepskin coat

She so there
She so everywhere
She got tucked behind her ear
A half-chewed jimson weed
Look out, Bart
Man, she’ll barbecue your heart
All in the name of art
She eats where angels feed

But she can wear a sheepskin coat

To relate to
What you hate’s to
Become great through
All less than nothin’ much
Did I mention
Her sole intention
Beyond antique invention
Is to destroy me with a touch?

But she can wear a sheepskin coat

Hold your tongue, pitiful one
Don’t pretend you ain’t drawn to me
Song’s been sung, rag wrung, flung, hung
Hold your tongue, pitiful one
Don’t pretend you ain’t the one drawn to me
A little so the saints don't know
Where I go
The saints don't know
Where I go

credits

from Ice Eaters, released June 21, 2015
Matt Oleksa: vocals, guitars, harmonica, percussion
Kevin Bass: bass
Erik Roget: drums, backup vocals
Bridget Brennan: vocals

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Matt Oleksa Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

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