Flight path creamery.

I hung for twenty one days whilst 

Eight graced for the cost of a perverse Charged call 

As you paced in the Owls shuttering 

laundry Eyes shadowing Bequeathed wreath 

as baby teeth grit and grind as blood 

Clots on my cream white facade.
Dead pan night screams of laboratory otters

cochlea terrors responding to contraband 

As underhand the coiled thrombosis 

Of aerial dogfighter tirades fly 

Siren Palm button down run ways 

As Obsolete coins become a collection 

Of rolled disposable Ashtrays.