cycle

He needed hands to eat d still, bays to dock
For this jealous clock
Ruptured dreams like spleen
Souls were oil.
In this liquorice maze
Giant hands clawed
At a nail bitten fence
I apologise
Your honour
I have no defense
For why the sand man
Littered gold by my bed
Scared thoughts were
Thunder
Outside my head
And the mockingbird
Sings a tidy tune ,
While this paradox
A gutter in spaces
An engined bow tie
In neat little spaces
In crisis a seed
With iron stem rots
Yet lives beyond
The time

To see it's tots.