Escaping the smoke screen.

Swing it anyway you want a hat to fit

and with that pistol lodged near 

a short drive by the horse that stopped 

pulling its cart along chalk walks 

as storm drains catch jacks dreams.

on the Shortest of streams to the town 

emptying gasoline to smoke screen 

It’s bean good to stalk over wet tee shirts.

Hiding the present whilst Courting the past 

With love affairs with life of washed 

Timber covered and Honed under concealed 

covered stars.

As the signs show the leading roads 

to barrel makers when the unwired

Enigmas can no longer sow.