Terrible infants juggle fishnet-green bottles under sad, lime-green oaktrees, cisterns balanced on their sea-green heads.


Christmas swings onto focus, the chiseling undertakers rent long, sad race-courses to walk on and they collide with other hypocrites out for a ridiculous Sunday  stroll … too.


the glow worms and the ocean liner


Wedges of blue cheese unimportantly placate each other, climbing, ever climbing.

Now the move is done – last steps under the sun – I trust – my products are second to none – no untrustful beatitudes – unlikely to calm sodden souls, unlikely to reap what they sow – a million glow-worms bedeck the night wrapped ocean-liner with a false dawn