Mallards in flight
The round bird spreads its wings
Over the Daughters of Uranus
The rippled water
Is sliced beneath a sun shone dust cloud sky
It is warm sat on the banking
The ducks quack and ruffle malodorously
Life does not wear as well
As the words
Of wasted afternoons
Umbilical chord - could it be true
Two heads are better than one
Co-joined inspirations
Don't go there, the ugliness overtakes me
And maybe
Look, don't read any more
You can't touch stuff nowadays
And without that humankind doesn't mean anything at all
Umbilical chord or not
Into the garden, the garden out of season
Back-along; the swirls, the paisley
The Gaelic confessions
With the accordion
Foot tapping
On the boards under canvas
By the bar stool
In the smoky haven
Outside of the gardens
Not now though
Today we are in search of
A more open enquiry
To reach a past time
Or a delusion not yet measured
Fruit face; I've wanted to say that for a while
Not that your necklace is unbecoming
But with asparagus tips, tonight's no night for slumming
Twigs laced; I've not told the whole story
But with twelve photographs of your head, organically immersed
You've given us all something to think on, or otherwise disperse
House without doors, house without windows
House with no one inside or out
House, made of thorns, a protection of sorts
Or a suggestion
That home is all we have to cling to
Or that home is all we have
In our struggle to get away
