Hand me eiderdown.

If you think you smell a jungle cat 

The mouse in the auctioneers trap 

I can run to the rivers and 

Ring my self in violets and poses.

After all I’m just a hand me eiderdown

Splashed with applewursts that happened

Between the two most opinionated 

Ice lollys of melting roads under blue clouds.

I’m probably a moth stitched mouth 

waiting for airmail recollection  

stamped address to kindling 

in the night garden of paper trees.