Tartan tokkuri Mantis.

Listening to Hints heard within wax streaks 

of hot purple the auto queued detritus 

Of retuned poets that once scribbled 

beneath the Tartan Stitched sheets.
Whilst gulls fly above the Dead 

and restless a bag of floating soda   

As it hinders the search partys 

with a tirade About converting 

coal to steam.
as they Butter the dictionary 

Press and drop it to the same old 

they once hot trotted to under Salisbury sky’s.
As we Wear face paint like their fears 

to dance around the changing rules of courting 

lovers In leaden shoes amongst churning waves

drinking with elephants and playing 

Them at their own milk felled games.
to stay awake whilst charting the flys that 

are ready to run the course.
As the metallic struts now enter sight 

Like scenes pulled from a magic hat 

as Still drams of pity sake are washed down within 

the Oriental parlour with topless tokkuri.
With not so distant podium rings 

A ping back being readied and Unlocked 

for torch keys.