If You can’t stomata Mach one
Maybe we can Revive you like orchids
with tea that will no longer grow
on the salted breeze where peacocks tap dance
And freely wished they had brought a hat.
No point preening at the Lost feathers
Or the seafronts that you can’t see from here
and let’s Leave the hypocrites to the fighting
Amongst the remains of precomputerised slacks.
Whilst trying to Sweeten tales And Grapple
with the thoughts that red and white poles
Are a weeks shave away.
Why don’t you pull up your chin
And Are you stocked up on compliance chairs
And made to measure suits.