The architect's craft prospers
across the pond, alright.
He closes the metal polish tin,
sinks the rye,
tips his small felt hat to
the long mood that looms.
As calling birds
weed out the soft centres,
the hive war's blank havocs
labour under cold dot tests.
He buys a website: governmentmanspocketnutmeg.neveragain
He writes: Book the Summer Motel.
Book the terrible flights.
He finds the 'country girl' cover, live.
He finds that sketchy neon superheroes
do the minimum.
He writes: This Life is Wearing.
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