shrubbery rubbery radish rubbish

eat up, sweet little tart

feathers don’t come up that far

in dim corners of empty light

they are afraid to cross this ridge

afraid not to fall, not till the end

come, little one, it’s not that hard

just hiccup of an empty ball

sucked dry in a contemplation of must

of thou shall see and thou shall not

thou shall be, but not for us

creeping in a mean-less dust

nameless miles mixed in your drink

take your choice, it’s not tough

not so many, not even in dark

oh, cherry blossom for a dime

smile back to me, while I tear you apart

not like in a form of an art

dripping paint of brush-tips heart

beverage from ants litter

if you don’t know that so far

mind is off, in a peaceful suite

like that one, but not falling apart

cunning shadow playing a dwart

using my head as a palanquin

in an offshore country this far

had to be rearranged as tramp

with obsolete pieces not fitting the pattern

sorted out to fill the geeze

ones that took part are now moving in

to term watt’s left, with no party and all

it will come like a dream

in the beginning with no start, no end

just a sawmill and sneeze

in their own adventure

with pixies and berries knee deep in dung

that’s not what it seems, just what it is

without a deep, just surface and all

no place for anything under, beneath

spit, spat, bubble, puff

no tale, no tail, no tailoring in a part