idiot bliss

accept this caress
 this cold clammy compress

something in the trellis in the quivering privet

pouring out the lemonade she realised that she was not alone

and further more

utopia's round the corner they used to say

get used to the future, you ain't got no choice mate

the trees are your future, the treeze, the breeze.

suck at the rim of your cups, puzzle the hanging washing on the line

climb those pock marked ravage foothills of your wilderness years once more

as the bus lurches up the Holloway Road in a wind swept rhapsody whatever

sudden freeze make way

ample rooms make way

make way