French slang for the fuel blockade
As bricks and mortars take flight
For a defence of a coast that separates oeufs
the truth Of the Story hiding in the Hortons.
Former playground of the lost marbles
dismantled psyches of the broken skulls
as they plied me up for your imagined sea sickness.
Rehearsed language school as I prepare to
Leave the atlas room on wood and plane
To fund a Vauxhall blimp stock market crash
That burned the tail end of a charter
A plasticine movie to our own superficial edifice.
You Broke my bones for brass and red lettered days
For the children that mispent their own youthful
pocket change on what was radio free play
As for the fiction I study of the present
finds realism in my retrospect past.