Periscope eyes look lively                            (I can’t take them off)

sweet ciphers crystallise                              in smoke-signal mouth

body language drifts                                   between message and bottle –

missed fits                  false starts                I work while I whistle but


it doesn’t take a genius to comprehend that

one bum note and the metaphysics falls flat


the metaphors turn out for naught – stuttering semaphore conveying little

beyond the flutter of semantics and directionless expenditure of energy


– origami mayflies                            tournesol thoughts

                   with no ground to grow on –


my treasure is a handful of thistledown

and the wind’s too weak to lift it from my palm

too quiet to drown out the lion’s teeth

that chew up money and spit out harm


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