I came to see the dead that waste away
At the stacked cards of stratified cliffs
and try to sleep the gloves of this caricature image.
Shaken off and Still At large swimming
along the low tidal to see the architectural dance
where the Bull that dozed whilst drunk
And fell into the sea.
A dalliance with tented Buoyancy
Poetry That only comes watching those
sink holes appear Whilst in the night chair
Of the branch lined Insecurities of Cognac
fuelled pen of Lost in the thoughts
of smelting lovers lane to make a ring.
As I can’t move on or off the bards scrawl
Those Thirsty strikes of the ribbon suits
aperitif bodes well.