Sitizens

go down the know-le hole
figh-ner the funerals
bunk off in the buskins
and bin all the peaceful piercings of smilings upon faces because the faces seem like they're shiver(y)ing,
and look very, very hurt

moved, we changed position,
sits of legs and crossings of arms,
tight, cage up the cryware charms

chives of odourous dead like milk left out of the fridge

sour
our world - a topsy turve
with only one curve: line of decrease

we could all crease in iron' to see this
is fist against illusion,

we ill,
go down the soul into, fight a few
we few go around, spread peace, try to renew

we world, fall down, one by one and one plus

stagger the leaves and goings, and news was swab,
swab was positive, enabled sitting down
and down and down

drove through corners,
peace was never closer


... see the frown, people around, very rarely do move far, frown varies
here, there be no white flag god mothers of fairies