Monsoon salts. 

The clothes of society peeled off the bourgh 

That was quietly thrown to cratered salts 

the monsoon landing replayed  

In the mind that was sowed and garnished

With televisual Tears.


pickups amongst the former fossil fields 

That fuelled trails and Gritted rings over roads

—-

And With no snow let’s spend a equation

On tea and make some whilst snowflakes

drawn in steam as apparitions 

in viaduct sunset.

—–
As they survey the play back 

the roll neck poet toasts the rigging and the mast 

The cute angle of potted pink sea foam

Mausoleum eights Faints dry swims 

to the tea house and honey scene

To the branched roped swing saved for 

Lost childhood dreams.

—– 

And With no snow let’s spend the equation

On tea and make some whilst snowflakes

drawn in steam as apparitions

in viaduct sunset.

—–
The arching probability of rain is 

chalked on the felt of a netted hole.