The world fails to fall into place
cats growl and grumble as if winged mice
have taken over yew-trees and graveyards
Reaching a clawed hand into the dream
a blue cacophony reels and roils
before a dark key, a shining spitfire
Clouds bleed memories and a faint malice
I have no aforethought, there are no crutches
on the way to the isle in the lake
bring me a sword, a plane saw, a monkey-wrench
the fixings have yet to begin
an aero-engines pleasure spins desire
windy hyperbole yet succinct
wonders, a stars ellipse, a heart wrapped
in a clock and set to explode at 9.30am
on a sunny day: the weasels wrestle the stoats
edging the crevice, testing the flattened air
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