Perforated pinball.

Hole punching is the anecdotal medicine 

a man still looking for effeminate

Gin recipes hidden by girl friday 

ancestors at a loose as to whether  

the shaking hands poking out of 

lye graves surrounding empty 

Cans of fly spray left in whistling 

grass with hedge bets and 

dead lions of the parade.


Whilst fiddling the pocket watch and 

ring a roses the Remains of lynchpin 

the choker hanging on the bristle 

scratched doors caught up in the 

dog tag name of who’s my maker.