From the garden in the forest the cripple etches up a few flashes of most secret moments :

A green leaf fortune buried in damaged brine.

A perpendicular flow of blueberries, loose paper tiles, cheese burns and fan stems.

Liberated consequences, woken fresh among the farthest gates and haysaws.

Winter flows through chilled endeavours on the angels before me, I stop that I cherish, laughing strange and symbolic, bringing on the fallen feathers - (the butterfly leaders).

Limas.

Limas in aspic , limas in asparagus and time, stale charbrush oil - dusted down dancing all our tomorrows.

Codex sailstorms glistening by the swan pool, swamped by the maypole, lost in the surface.

Fifteen great stones, eleven slightly smaller and nine on the edging. (Two stones grey and insignificant).

Honey vegetables, wine soaked, belly tucked, upturned brown.

Blue like the mirrors, warm as the morning; the mountain opens up before me.

Eleven separate systems, seven scented sisters, forty-four assorted shortbreads - six upon the saffron magic.

After, standing tall at the stairhead, he begins recounting the triumphs and humiliations in a voice clear and loud :

A simple-faced whalebrush, dark and deep, blood dripped in the trees, the green-backed florist stared.

Empty and blue. Empty and blue.

Cold nights and chaos, headache-making madness and machines, wilted and stemmed within the charity of my heart.

The charity of my heart unbroken.

The charity of my soul crushed beneath the weight of anguished screams and hissing whispered sneers.

Snails and rust and sweet, blessed decay.

Secret numbers, taut and dry within the jaded systems, lost in systems, warped in beauty.

Dry, slept hail-bones, ticket nettles ear torn needles, figs and tears and brew, (the Nectar Figurine), well-washed and weary were your carp and stack and nails.

The sudden, uncontrollable revelation that stars and buried sunsets teemed in torrid aching dreams.

Acid pity! Lo my gift - a mace to crush your pretty head.

Acid pity! Lo my torment - ever kiss behind the putrid pane over which your lovers pissed.

Acid pity! Lo my judgement - bear my treatment - build a gilded willow tower, tall and splendid, mixed in tears and screams and sleep-lust, mark my error.

A pillow of hot, wet ****.

Having traded a kingdom for a quick fuck, the cripple, (hereto called "The Fool"), entertains the wall.

Rivers robbed of reason, seasoned bridges sealing terror, wash my cold-stacked soul and bleed a second dream.

Stone my pillow now and sticky, melting plastic be my sheets.

"Were you not at Hollybrook on Tuesday?" asks St Peter, to which I hurried shrug and run.

Flaked and hollow, burned and brittle, stamp-fest greetings be my martyrs. Martyred be the helpings of dead-trees.

Foul and flustered, bred and busted, gates and peeps and shelf cakes crusted.

Ooooh! The taste of shallow tea!

As a final act he buries another.

Swine long and gentle, hidden in deep-pockets and lost and hunted and shorn.

Somehow cashing floorstumps, crash boom callow, tailed the trees.

"You're a barmaid???!!!!", so simple does the dreaded song begin.

Red car red car red car be my blessings, be my salvation be my stars be my final fateful fall.

Forward, forward prebrides, onward, onward into the valley of light - no more will my arms widen unto thee.

Zebra stews and flaming twiglets, brave and brandished, warped and bleeding. their greened eyes leaning, blue and still stained brown, (the Shadow Walkers), are you not the guesses of my dreams?

Fail and falter, my ambitions my left hand, stored and fade-washed beauty and twenty-one short circles, a whistle and a stay-thorn, casket dressed and waiting.

My love, my love, my love, my love, my love.

My love.

Hope and standards, cashed and splendoured, oh to hear your turgid echoes, final insults, spitting pleasures.

Oh to hear your voice, your name.

Phoenix headed rise up, whither not the sameness of my hours. Scream and whisper, jump and drop.