Writ across my face
in silo the compound
arch is made
out of bitter missives
off idylls bleached into
gantry singing
tied up in sad yap
and revisited as guest
having no charm of quark,
are the burrows of your
comradeship lapel
unworn for the
cipher school turned to
papal kisses one by
one to build the lagoon
whilst white bonnet
renders sympathy out
the jurors
