A face filled with tiny hooks
Chaplin reading ***** books
placards on the street
if
postcard men are the cardboard men that you meet,
let's go eat
ham and pickle on rye bread from the Northern Somme
war cries in the east
at least we're good to go or so the waitress says

days like this are long drifting in and out of song
kayaks on the beach
if I try then I might reach the arms that
reach out to me,

we
let dreams down and die
have you ever wondered why
we're halfway around the bend?
you know it'll never end
but you hope it does.