Straights sand to dry fjord vue.

Glaciated straights skim reading 

like water boatman 

Assaying papers over tea rings of a forge

the dry fjord vue a sand castle filled ring 

Bells enable the proof reading of

Palmed cactus that tactless laughed at the 

Black well oiled box and dancing fox’s  

Whistling to you in your little black dress 

Togo dares and no time to rest 

the laurels might get cold 

There’s a tipping queue waiting and wanting 

to head westwards as the sun on back seat 

reminds of reclining for in flight movies 

And Lovers walking hand in hand me down lanes 

As he leans in to ask do I know you

Danish bacon commercial 

I’m also the voice of a hobo on a road 

to the Airport to meet 

the green fairy of Venice beach

And with earphones filled with sea shanty tunes and 

What coordinates will return to me Holmes.