no deeper than a six
half-dead as poets
tobacco brown
more imperial than a thousand frosts of time;
no walls to hide the Autumn from the eye
of sorrow lame
crawling with a Pheasant
through astrology and rhyme;
this song that sings to nowhere
bible black
voices from Argyle to sweet anon
pepper-green
for the sweet smell of a Rose to walk upon;
all things as this
one substance from the colours of the brave
the beauty of the marker
slave to Master
Mistress to amphetamine
digging deep our secrets to a grave;
as pure as penicillin
one substance lacking taste
from a god of China
barking with a postmark
with her cinnamon and paste;
no heavy heart
score years no less than money up a tree
in monkeys stomach
as pale as he abandoned
in our Ezra\'s very own Sargasso sea.
murder me a lime
suggest I prove no more all what is mine;
you are you
in petticoat and plaster.
I and I
beneath your stars
to Hell of ever after.
melancholy not
the powers of a word.
what treasures are our own
that we should swear on oath as lovers should?
half me
half Sycamore.
you are you
pulling flowers
deeper than a six;
I have loved you twice already
with the fruits of summer mixed;