Moscovite 33.

It was seven auras to eight and Moscow 

was on the white pine table with the 

Fables reimagined radio 

wire Scrambling girls grabbing 

The attention of drafts men 

Headlining Bone tiles 

of ultraviolet Flowering 

wreaths taken down notes

Of struggles with hope 

Not even a castrol stroll

With seance It sighted fear

and no one could solve or

could see the account being 

Dramatised on the New Years 

whilst jivers reminisce 

Of wartime dances under

Rameses Spotlight of folding

Dictaphone whiskey chairs 

Holding solitaire one of pair

A war that came close to 

Never happening with clues of 

Ordinance trials and bike racing 

A distant Lenin glasshoused

With venting slide to jeans

How do you bitter beer without 

the hops skips and cream.