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.
