tables claim street
space
shaped like sheep
pens

foxy shepherdess
orders me
Mr Wolf marks
my card

economics of
ergonomics in consumption

something preposterous
to come across of us
heading for the sea

a pink diplodocus's
skipping home for tea

There is of
me so little
to be buff
that fickle
you wants.
You so vain
need me to explain.
You then see magasines
make bad mirrors.

gently start with levers
on the staples
holding heart

prise those sharp
fingers from me
they will not rise

the tenderness, lift
that beat from it
that allows to send

sound felt through
ribbed cage keeper
of purple welt

be deaf. move hands
to ears. my heart is
better left

pinned by my own
fears

summer pendulums
in pink from
pints of rainbows

scuttles, yellow, drop
fine strands of
honey in bins

transits of ochre
dead spill
wads like corn

hot and popped
in a bucket

brush loaded wet
recovers wall
shimmered wet

erratic and fast
ivy pullovers
race crazy leaves

volumes of cloth
wrap neutered
the wildest cotton

print detail
in Paisley
or frond

birds brown have
red berries as
cheeks

radiance picked
bright
in late autumn light

on our colour street.

gritty mud shifts
old stub of
coil

fused into a
tube ridged
like a worm

neglected sheds
of utility
futile in dirt

plastic band
white wipes
clean

it unlike the
iron
refuses to
favour soil

spun sugar filaments in a silver bowl
lights blink out-of-time between
music
over-loud
over-layers
ride
to fairground
ride

'bit wrong' artwork for eight year olds
steal scenes from archetypes
of
last centuries Hollywood

eager faces watch
sugar grow

(fresh spun - waltzers
bash crashed belts on - dodgems
polyestered rabbit - hook a duck)

learn candy floss pink

comes out of plastic bottles