I’m a capitalist success story

born for the future good

left for a ranking firework

to put out the flame of my look

It took only solitude and

endeavour to put through

these heavenly gates

a tomorrow against which to falter

and a gainsborough left

still unfinished in the

yard of our jester called


This is not the story of Adam

nor the witchcraft of Eve

but the esther of beehive neglect

under the surface of leftover


I wanted to tell you more

but in a state of anti-inflammatory vice

I decided to pre-empt any form of

communication with

a dire warning of disease

to mouth and other moist


This is the end of sovereign

monarchs where the rule

is about timing and influx

of deity and sombre notions

of flux during inculpable leaving

differences and pain.

Kiss me not for in fervour

I might peek at you alone

with your tools and toolbox

alone in the shed of

your mind with the blacksmith

arms about you.


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