Hurled a four letter
From under foul weather
Thoughts that heal matter
Like dead leaves scatter
Confrontations and
Blind reservations
Have all
Been sown
A child’s self chatter
With small feet patter
If we could just let her
Then she will to grow better
Conversations and
Hallucinations
Are all
Born
In the call centre
A rather bored renter
Looks under thick curtain
Of all that’s said certain
Destination spawns
Preparation
Of all
Sorts
(Scratch vocal lines…)
