Silence and sips
and seldom swinging doors
the ritual of pint glasses
their pull and their pour
A silver dense carbon with frozen eyes
at its shore,
and lifers - flat or lifeless.
Three unsettling straws
Like fish finger fishing
‘tis morbid, ‘tis blunt
‘tis thoughts for the thoughtless
‘tis true Anne found a lump
The temple. The Vedas
crown of froth of a christ
a coiling of piss rivers
neuro-cells sacrificed
Sacrament dainty
is here, everyfink
bunches of coarse hands
little to drink
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