I set the long while of sink startly
Cannot but rotate the leg hound
While you where there it
I have not counted vans cars buses or trains
Shake loose the orange and tomato
Do not quibble the small milk and beer
The bloodhound sniffs beyond tomorrows
Politics is a canned sandwich
Try to fill the pot with moist starch
And when you go there excerpt steel
Once realisation hits you will come
Better to understand
Lorne
That way you had of arms and fingers
Bullet cut through the body armour
The sky impolitely would not down a slope
Some kind of molten joke like gauze
Politicians talk on doorsteps and welcome mats
Having eaten do not entertain resentment unduly
The parable of lengthy durance insides
Got to stop doing feverish time
Did you hear listen that twill meant
The kind of factory soaked in lorne
I would have gone
But it took forever to get there
Clark Allison
Photo Nick Victor