Losing my senses in the big nothing of days
Or in the middle of these pale lime green fields
A painting of an idyll masquerades as a painting of an idyll

The Chrysanthemums talk to the Nasturtiums
Photographs of photographs of photographs of photographs
Several nights of dreaming of the sea

And this little light bulb that won’t stop laughing

An angry duck with bloodshot eyes
Rises to the top of the gold industry

Dollar signs under fluttering eyelids

Imagine a pink flower the size of the sun
All the furniture getting sucked
In to the centre of the room

A giant lemon coloured moth
Banging on the window against

The pale green evening light
Somehow attempting to escape history