I skimmed a polka of its medication
to show what happens in a society
when a tree is feed on the blood
and bones of musicals.
stripped of flowers and Ethers
For sponsors that are gone
But not forget me knots
left in cold harbour like the burnt hands
wreathed In rags and blue stitches
lacking the Colour of rust.
Sulphur lakes empty with disregard
Of dictated tapes epitomising
Shotgun wounds luck is yours to draw
If you dream it keep it.
By your bedside you bookmarked
Ribbon and Lied magnetising your orientation
Failing In its ability to Distract with
mutineers eyes of sugar.
Nineteen fifty raked sliding to four.