Summer crocodile wallow
in blood poses,
the children of Falstaff
love danger.
Wander on through green tipped lanes
toward butter and string music
and simmer as the sun
turns misery into cider chrome.
Yellow stalk raise the damp!
Disease has no patrol in cinder gardens
bonnetted by foxgloves,
the razor machine has no mascot here,
where gentleman die at night
cracked by the weight
of a bloated moon...
@Steven Francis poems 2009
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