all thimbles and thumbs
this decor more eclectic than a chair.
who are these masked marauders
in their silicon salt of tardiness
riding three abreast with a cabin crew of faun?
it was the swarm of eyes that told
no season ever lived and loved
nor did it ever crank the tulips hive.
it was the sour grass of mongrels
marching two days shorter
than a ukelele\'s chords of heaven\'s breast.
below the water-line
it is here it sleeps away primeval screams
leans a little left into a parliments debate.
these wise men with their butchers knives
I have seen their castanets
through the eye-balls of a throat
mountain goats of holly-green
with smokers coughs to mask it\'s railway lines.
murder me at sunrise
when am sun-dried with my opium and lids
cut me into pieces with my apple-pie and cream
set my ashes free among the peers.
let the games begin.