Two minutes to air

And we’re

Looking

Seating there

The iron

The bleach

Take me to

Better there

Above

Abroad

In golden

Shades

Of dreamward

Void

Warm

Words

Colours

Broad

Two minutes

And Archie’s

Bald

The world’s censors

Got em’s balls

But ark

In Eye-light’s

Got Wickered

Boules

Were out

To worst

The rain’s

Called

Out worklite

Dead mile to

Brawl

Electronic wails

And she’s leafing

Thru Monday’s

Pales

Chatter-luck

But there aint

No man

Here to hear it

Hit the tracks

Rolling

Bigger than fails

And he’s the

World of hot-young

Grails

Hit the tracks

Rolling

Hit the tracks

Rolling

Chatter-luck

But there aint

No man

Here to hear it

Chatter-luck

But there aint

No man

Here to hear it

Eyes past the better

Of life for caring

My seat

My ride

But there aint

No man

Here to hear it

But how, Buck Pal?

A sign, the Mall

In a
Basement
Which could be
An annex to
London Transport Museum

Uncle Joe,
Learnt

Strand, St Martins' Lane
Turn this way

ASDA eyes

Past me bye
The boy with ASDA
Aisled eyes

Look at me
Look at me
With the camera
Documentary

Cry away the bitter whys
Of liberal investigatory:

I’m too shy to
Look