A greyness falls past a fluttering man
Lying in wait behind a broken toy
The rain is a nail-gun of black and tan
Breaking the smile of the wavering boy.

Your naked feet search the sacking cloth floor
hoping to find some fragmented roulade
Your toe flips the lock of an open whore
Clinging from the spine of a balustrade.

You wince from your love and the growing stain
Made from the oil of the hair and the hand
Implemented flies from cheap willing grain
Seeds from the gash and the pulsating gland.