Drip tray feed.

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.