Like music that isn’t music I wasn’t there

It is pastoral yet effectively bounces sideways

Regular in its refusal to allow chance fluctuations

Getting in the way of a costly time please 

We beg for our hearts’ entertainment

Out sourced ethics

But what you ask is the story over

There now

It is shows it is pitting your wits against 

The life

Irregular heart 

Beats now

Unbearable heart break unsolved

In five French parts but the sub-titles where often too late

They flashed in a frame

The dummy was floated to the exact spot

But nothing added up

Pattern of numbers retrieval and starry-eyed surveillance systems

Broken we laugh on the wing

And hope that out offspring will thrive this year

Ripples in the earth slowly expanding like

The froth on my beer breathes early demented spectral loops

On the horizon floatation tanks hustle and bustle

I chose you to be my god my guru

Puckered streaks of night rain thudding

Tropical train rounding the jungle

Bend in the rancid night

Of cigarette smoking eyes without faces

Slung the pack on the floor with a thud too fucked 

To move or care dragging all possessions

In a disintegrating black bin liner up the high street on a Friday

Night with fear bubbling behind the eyes historical legacy of 

Heavy oak framed memorial device languid star clad 

Gentle waste fund corporeal blister pack head rest

Over long sprint gas light beacon mist homage surfeit

Of hopeful longing to the restless