‘Neath the air, its cold puff, the plough & its tough
In the oval moon, the pacing dandelion fluff
In this window & flower pot & a handcuff
Seeing the oceans of white waves, paves the ashes
Sea shells & the crabs laughed ‘neath the
Canopy . . . the itchy irritation butterflies
The poor gum, immaculate flowers, illusions
The captains mangle, its luring a stray skeleton cat
Its refuge in a cave of bats, whose limbs torn, sing melodies
Blind & with bleeding chests, lays pieces & the pests
Leave the cat alone to rest, in a raccoons cocoon
Local part pimp, part limp, chased fellow
Into the fields of Olive Flower Trill

Slowly in this sight, strapped to a metric chair, one-way-window but this cold & old, hollow white walled room, this yellow roof, this vomit green carpet, this vomit green carpet, this vomit carpet . . all but in this ranting & vomiting & slurs is this single pot, window with a view & a single handcuff . . . I see the winter ice light a tree on fire, i see a newborn in this following rock platform, see the turpentine trips & cloud of the heavy cigarettes & their lungs in their children's eyes & their leaf drills pinned to their flies/i see the shifting sands clash till the mountains collided, till you hear gods rumble mountainous trees & the horrendous harmonica ponder in the wild west film/i see the filthy slums & a spotlight on the comedians face, hear the shameful laughter & hateful words & jokes/till his eyes melted in his face, till the adjective of a word became a laughter, till laughter became hatred/till this ancient bus i see stationed to mexico . . . See the triumphant ocean beezzz buzzing till these figures whom black murmur out hatred/drifting the sea out the voices pound gathering diamonds/see these fires tinker out in the dawn/i see the moment everything stopped/see these faces whom i love dearly, till these hatred monsters deplete my face from shrink to a thousand or millon dollar worth of blinks . . .

I tinker & fumble in this time sphinx
Where it repeats in a Jefferson Air plane
& where it relies on my mind
With a wire in this tired jinx you get
Its me “im calling from this dark
geetarr at half past twelve!”
Its the deep dark ocean room, its a kitchen
without a light
Its a plate & no food, with empty cups but
water in containers
With tiles on the roof & carpet on the walls
Its the folk singers in the
overlayered tame
Chicken legs for wars & world tired
lawyer names

In stupidly in this cupid mid air craft/ancient in the meta pioneer of the Frankenstein jewellery . . . the last trials in the maze, the mass i’ll run till death i’ll be proof . . . clothes of jazz in gold whistles/shadows your below & the speechless residents applaud you through a window/icy straights/it was till we made our feet out the door & planted ourselves on solid grass, far too cold to bother being bold in this unconventional, tilly oak strings, viola & the violins & the big grinning cello bold enough to eat the stratosphere & break the science of it . . .