CMNGHME

the finical 

    here flushed 

to zero for 

all pause in 

the margarine 

mouths as only the 

knocks and tunes in 

reactor limps 

out o'clock 

starts seed, 
         in the 

arching and 

the drilling pieces 

sirens off the hook 

 sinking upon the 

moments of closing 

its own reward, 

the old 

sky tips its 

word title, 

on ugly little 

flowers, so 

sun glows 

because of it, the 

insistent

cloth is singed 

soft the

 trade points 

your hands 

and feet