He shouted it out from Hamlet’s pressed lips —
that the parsonage owed him a million “white tips”
of the dream that the DOCTOR had planted in mist
had grown to the might of a twelve story bitch
born of malice and might and his doctrine was white —
he should forfeit his place in the neighbourhood right?
With a code head and the sea’s read
and its boiling from the hot heads
who stick their rash neck in the brine and it’s “tears shed”
and low-distortion rage collared
and your brother resents his cage and its collared
And the POLLENATED GIRLS will stop and spin their curls
and lo! They have crawled around the world
in the semblance of a trade mission’s pearl

and THE POLLENATED GIRLS spray their spray
and I am dizzy like some EARL who had stumbled upon a worker in peril
and saved his skin for the tribunal’s herald! ls