two o\'clock
the pawning of the doomsday laugh
when all is fair
in love and Warblers beak.
twice now; through the well structured rupture of the tweed
have I set my stalls
upon the staging of the play
where the southern cross melts with a lesser sting;
the great grandfather cock
cocks his head to the granite of shaven bread
with staked heart on salmon smile.
a mile away; still digging for a deeper maul.
flame the cottoned candy with the brandy\'s tippled sprawl.
kiss my final cigarette
and declare the furlong run;
with throat as dry as hemlock
three o\'clock
the accused may stand and demand a closer view.
in defence of the shell beneath my skin
aching to the crown
history for the making of the gown
when huffs and puffs the prince to the staring down;