the shock of it my drink spills on your day

popped from a blister pack crows on the wind bluster they fade

then muffled bells and chatter at synapses and the cultures of evening

step into lanes stoop to forests pause from volition

blood on white bread darling it’s got to taste good

the engine I think the engine said

should

one tenth of a gigalitre

course through

your heart your heart cannot rust

why don’t you

 

 

 

trust me on this?