My Haven Is A Horse-Box

my haven is a horse-box.

my gallant foul

what troubles lift with this?

it is tin or it is him

spending time with both.

I am cardboard

you are still.

manners of a king

thrill rehearsed bad photographs

impodent and ill.

you betrayed our every move.

I am tired you are flippant

half-man half in-between

a double sided anemone.

your mother always craved a daughters smile.

floating on the waters of a heart

each prop an anchor

easy on the miles.

it is china when the wind chimes

a paper cup if only for a while.

was it the puppy-fat, the orange,

or the ice-cream on your nose

that taught you how to dance

to decompose?

I crawled inside your fingers

with Bukowski on my arm.

what can we do?

almost nothing can awaken you

it is up to you

to figure out a plan.