The cumulus gathered in the strangest of places.
Towing pontoons over white noise
And above the exhausts of organs.
They swept the lawns and steps of silver vistas,
Curl footed and foraging for the bare bones of anecdotes,
While the clipped wings of horseabouts carpet the harbour
To a hand crank shop back in five for several hours.
Another chimney stubbed in the spit shaved promenade.
I’ll listen for the sea in memorabilia
And carve reflections into the grophoskop (15×60 model VII).
The kettle WHISTLES
At 15° the porcelain novelties wilt like streetlights.
Sun bleached; they announce the absence of April.
NO access to wide vehicles.