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.