the
good intentions
of a tidy evening that was clean and worked at
dissolve
like cheap soap flakes
in the clutter of kipple and too-fast chaos
of
bad bad sleep
where one arm has nowhere to go
its sediment is sore in my eyes in another uninspired grey dawn
winter; england - all pale dishrag and leftover wet moonlight
and
while
theres a new twist in my baby smile thats not grim
it
haunts
and
hurts
that this new twitch
cant silence our conned and sly consumer chatter
that
falls
on this sci-fi earth like dangerous rain
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