Drip tray feed on a soda
Until a hen teeth are pulled out
Microphoned up like a steaming bard
Whilst hiding amongst the laurels leafs
And where I fall is where I wake and forget
Parents patent memory’s
As the sun moves across rebuilt towns.
duelling over dusted Carriages
two gloved hand’s and tree shaped clocks
Of broken branch line ancestorys
smoking pyres of balloted names
Erased Watching monkeys gated dreams
If beginnings had no end
Then my glass wouldn’t be half full.