Trojan cans. 

Building blocks out of piles 

Missing alt keys 

Electrocuted under kites 

that cannot feed 

the magazine you can’t read 

Through the seed devoured  

like the emptied tin cans 

Listing hour after hour of 

Mirrored ceilings 

Francisco django centipede 

Minus ninety Fahrenheit 

that once filled a trojan horse’s ears 

Marching around trafalgar 

Filled with history 

told of old flaming cane 

and candied cotton 

Canterbury ghosts caught 

On camera in field Of Primus 

and prism catching light  

convincing investors in 

Early films Of sound 

and scratching teeth 

Licking plates at night

Some try fixing problems 

and realise the suffix 

Is silence in the cold harbour

Of dust bathing.