The Horton school for Guinea pigs.

We watch the curtailed in restropective

The eight days in solitary learning to speak Guinea pig 

line break music journalists in jungian toungues.


watching the Lost lustre on gym slips 

that may never be found again 

radio debunker rain kept in 

A cold harbour maybe a weather vain Points 

too the brew buried within you


Forgetting the ghosts of that shower

That lead them to exiting left 

to hide there own reviews of backseat demise.


The translators we past on stairs today 

shave work shy ears tommorow

Let’s drive the nights on empty 

serviced airport lovers.