Memory driven ashore


By time running backwards. Viaducts conduct constraints construct which is why is by itself distracted by sight-saving currencies. Each gap is high on hope and orders, seals like wheels to vary sense coming up trump – tramp – trump. First one must always, second bites dust sideways and third goes bust Margatewise. All in line with wild-haired fines upon re-entry when they perfect perception: coming round is bound to end up salted. A blue shoreline is equally baffled by peeling oranges on a crest, mocking memory and docking hyperthighs in pure light. Dreams caught in a break in the clouds are growing in the distance — lip my jaw, blank by page and blotted thanks to pitch-black sound. Divided, as if talking to a friend makes tea steam up the highway. It must be the telephone that comes home to count two up two . . .