Nailed down then speared!
The embattled spirit chances upon the wyrd
Bronzely retired the honest tyrant
The handsome weir is never tired;
Lion never tire their diet; tyres long for grit;
Bonnets dream of clean, cleaving hits
Spray, hiss and cold hit of victim’s pips and leavings.
It is these things that sleeping cars are dreaming of.
Roadlust in the dust throat of wheels,
So paperwant enfires a writer;
Wringing out the cloth of me
The chomped bit of my pitiless mind.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment