Monday 30 July 2018

up nobody has, children (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

trust seal
          is cylindric 
        to estranged
on the 
whole thing 
for good as
    the mud flats,
when traded 
       with living blood
in labour like 
 the souks 
you in hatred 
for the upkeep of place,
bloodline always 
choking and why 
we move 
 those who 
   did not 
to music is 
    rustic meal the 
pot of 
    the same food,
 inverted milk 
     snuff from 
the roses and 
it’s own business,  
we a plate 
      of victuals 
that would 
   still have 
no discipline to 
this vitreous
    count to choil,
     whilst cutting
  over the 
      muddy feet 
               for maudlin,
      the unknown mob 
             where mosquito disperses 
          your heart-rhymes
all that 
    has gone before us
       has to  do with
 table manners