Pink as the Holy Roman Empire

Lost my sheep 

In a sheath of water 

Yet my Constance 

Was bone dry 

It takes a raft of lost orisons

And the echo 

Of a mantra 

To feel these pulsing 

Inhibitions 

Rising like a molten wave 

Pushing daisies 

From the grave

I've got a hundred and twenty needles

looking for a heartache 

To bend into a tune

To expend like a hot doubloon 

To lace with dignity 

Like a well earned slap

Let's rake some sketches 

Into beautiful songs 

Born on the wing 

To burn and sing

There's a murder of crows 

Billowing in my tea cup 

I can't sleep 

With your breath in my veins

You can see right through them, 

like an exon comet 

or the halls of diss

Pink as the Holy Roman Empire 

All blue and faint and bloody

I'm sending you a whisper

as gentle as a buttercup 

as a distant as a star crash 

Thudding like a gunshot

Obliviates a flower.

2013 - ?