To meet the croupier who could rolled it long
Draw you out of botany naming game
Of a Japanese made canopy of equations
last left in store by tourists passing idle hands
While Hiding from mythical pollinators in the rain.
painting around stationary store Windows
the Japanese steaming hills above whilst you sleep
And can now no longer dream Marooned
in the flooding bunker of a electronic music scene.
the art deco dance of Cold black tea
Nothing that you read is what it seems
And when you read the safest thing
Is to Conjure thoughts of swimming koi.
Awkward silences broken by smiles
hands scribe after dark art verses
laughs Over red oxide vices and movie quotes
often unsugared and green spiced primed
stripes You keep trying to decipher.