Buddy can you spare a rhyme, the time, / a line for Paisley?…
Mechanical shovels scrape
/ the soft felt of your mossy slopes.
/ Torn brown welts bleed water, ooze clay,
/ and the tearing in my breast…
/ before you hit me with that object
/ shaped like a toblerone
/ let me explain.
/ We only went for a half pint and a…
I am the angel charged to take you home.
/ I have nothing to look forward to. You have.
/ You think you nodded…