a seasoned dream salted at a blues fair
Eyes inside the Holland road house
the silver that read those tea stained hands
You can always dust Yourself down
along the straights as these Visions narrow.
names as faces don’t always fit
When you can’t speak because
the language is not your own
the pearls framed as paintings
became set and bound
Rowing out to the islands To cut keys
for daisy knotted window.
We can all find ourselves chained
by our own mindset and fears
Like a porcelain white horse.
And you can dress up and undress yourself in the
history Of the past hundred years
remember those that dreamt of this
and if you make a wish Maybe it will
make those shoes fit too.
did you ever really leave those Apple grounds
As all i can see are the cross stitched fish
cloth and felt ear that pricked your mind
at the door Seen From under tulip plough.
Caged and muted whilst I watch
and learn of a couple sparking at the forge
Over the ideals of youthful love and whether
Too return to the past as futures already here.
as we watch the bull ring that lays on floor
outside sleeping twinned oversea towns
a future that cant be made or fortold
Like a conjuring trick.