Flushed, a throb to your stifled lives.
Am I deaf, or are you dumb plums
just stupid Smothered mother's words.
Do you never dance or drive?
Chance a risk - whist drive done,
Or draw a sword to the stellar swings
And geoid turns that shape our lives,
Throw lunacy to lunar sways.
Off beat rhythm, rag time drives.
As I swim naked, baptised in innocence,
Cold, but smiling and free -
My one man dome home, subtle venom
To the bad-man bandanna of routine.
christo
1998