up nobody has (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

   trusted 

          is cylindric 

        to estranged

backdrop 

on the 
whole thing 

for good 

    the mud flats,

when traded 

       with living blood

in labour like 

 the souks 

you in hatred 

     so they slide 

up nobody has 

this plain as day,

not waning and why 

we move 

 those who 
   did not 

feast 

to music is 

    rustic meal 

now you 

     at the back, the 

pot of 
    the same food,

 the inverted milk 

     snuff from 

the roses and 

business,  

we a plate 

      of victuals 

that would 

   still have 

no discipline, 

  all that 

    has gone before us

       has to  do with

 table manners