The sea is rough stirred with tea spoons
Dishes swim in kitchen made dreams,
Crossing the land hooked onto a washing line.
The landscape is dirty linen, clothes and sheets
Being washed, ironed and folded out again and again,
A little rain never hurt no-one.
Words are flames in a cooker
Spread out like a jigsaw table cloth,
Staring into tealeaves and seeds
Creased and scattered into the breeze.
My only friends
Kitchen appliances speak to me,
As I escape dodging around empty seats
Curled around the tip of a fork.
Dishes swim in kitchen made dreams
Crossing the land hooked onto a washing line,
Words are flames.
Kitchen appliances speak to me
A little rain never hurt no-one,
This bleeding heart sneezed out of his nose
His better than anything I can prepare.