Crowns on’s plateau. 

There’s allez room on this paper piste 

where flies won’t settle in umbrella jars  

as long as your not offended when I get up 

and go to make room for you on the already 

Crowded plateau.

And don’t waste all your wishs feeding 

those flying fishes that curled in palms.

As a child on the slopes.

Cutty sark body art stencils cast shadows 

from wire hangers socks filled with 

numbered rules set in stones dropped 

and what did the cockatiel 

do after the last crystal refill.

As signals set light to the torch after dark 

And I won’t drink until you do.