Swedish rugs.

Reciting rolling swedish rugs 

lost in the smog at the gates 

looking at loopholed toungues 

with bees middle distancing 

What’s left of the dance

was caught in dripping wax 

the fractious metal 

that works its way 

Like a larvae seeking sunrise 

Breaching Folicals 

at eight the hive collapsed 

In chains of repressed laughter

At Love lost too clipped 

peacocks feathers in labour

Caught in hoopla fears and 

Red poster painted faces 

Of trepidation expressed 

In unfolded origami searching 

out four down the owner of 

the missing directors chairs.