Traitor

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;