Straights sand to dry fjord.

Glaciated straights skim reading

like water boatman

Assaying papers over tea rings of a forge

the dry fjord view 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.