Innocence.   Sunk the glow and drowned in covers,   send for all your absent lovers things.      Sheepish Wolves.   Looking lived in eating buttons,   Wink, just don’t put your teeth on me.      Accidents.   Let the evening in the backdoor,   filled the room ceiling to the floor.      Beat backbones.   Grazed the poem and made it strange,   I wasn’t born to be a skeleton.      Go on,   grab your hat and fetch a camera.   Go on, film the world before it happens.      Jealous orchard.   The sky is falling off the ceiling   while I’m tucking fibs into a cookie jar.      Bombed reverie.   It’s useless searching in the cupboards   when everything you have is on your back.