Hawks pockets.(diary) 

South of the hill there was still no sign

As to why they stole the joy and won’t 

replace the world’s missing sticks 

once kept alongside pocket watch 

Inside of you.


By now Scratched by hawks of the moor 

settling in the branches of lime filled 

streets with arching light reminiscent 

of that town once cobbled and flooded 

in Gaslight.


There’s a cast deity east of the shore 

whom you may strike asterisk with

Who eats shadows in exchange for 

their future trials of life. 


With a look that’s reminiscent of 

persuasion short of a triad or three 

For a birds place at the table 

clothed In nuebuck suede no thank you.