Burnt on barrels.

You showed me in your hour of need 

Four corners that a holepunch 

Would drink off a friday night free

From introductions too hypocrisy 

The floor has never looked cleaner

The three stars are usual burnt on 

Both ends of the barrel

It’s a reading grade scarified along 

with the scarecrow’s frowning brow

looking down its hookah filled Nose 

As Amity smoked and dispensed 

Innocence Buckling under the weight

Of laced plimsoles 

in honour of its addiction too horror 

a by product of the sedatives usual 

taken aurally to induce hiatus modelling 

In its yellow vinyl blimps 

As sleep deprivation 

Is finally brought under Control 

by robots of their own Making 

itch what you can no Longer reach 

In the restraints of psychotropic 

retrospective the lost ward of Music rooms 

with it can’t explain the stitches on piano keys

like Wire wool sparking those Cardboard kidneys 

directional Reels automotive electrical movements

Those craning wings the wishing well

Generously Funding bullets for Gatling 

guns and a mutual gain with pray it’s 

Remembered it’s back scratching 

Oak tree with rouge voting and 

There’s narcoleptics bunker atop

Of a hill and a round about

To all forms of tee shirts that 

Describe insanity filling Erectus

Camera less beat verification.