from the centre of an arc
the wood that paints it\'s colours of a child.
through the grotto of a stain
where somewhere else sees far between a maul;
no spattered blood
to swim Lands End
on the back end of a nine
where heels the monarch
stuffed with horse\'s tail of bigotry;
to the safe side of a rock
alone as two
unsettled nerves with mouths of black and gold
feeding on the liver of a cow.
thick-skinned these cellars breathe
high above the octave of a throat;
on the fat side of the meat
we breed like camels
on the flip-side of a coins degenerate.
each astute with a belly-full of sand
what god wants, god gets.
bugger all
now the desert spits out love and drips it\'s red;
where no flower breaks the soil.
neither cloth nor cry
for mother of my surrogate surprise
with her voice of cloves
banging with the vampire of carousel and cream.
what do I now
deep beneath a shade of 3 o\'clock?