Where is that gilt-lining –
saturated with stars,
bleeding rhyme, shining
Ever Ever, More More?

patchwork whines by
grinds into the second hour,
mills the HighLife till dust
falls from the pages

to gently break is also
to infinitely split

to impossibly grammatise
is (for some) to terribly flinch

there are everyday things
deeper than death
rolling their stride