Before the milkman comes..

Take a tube node

in a nude robe,

make a rail stack

in a base rack,

sing a game toad

through a jail song,

breach a round fist

with a top hat.

Play a safe card

on a dud horse,

race a small car

down a kind alley,

case a large joint

with a ham held

to a stock pot of

cruelling liquorish rum.

Wish a roast catch

from a soft patch

taken to far, time

backed when cradle

scratched the timber

drawn silver in the

dust of crime hatched

warm in the sabre’s den.

Clam a tenth hole

with a skin flack

near a petal pen

written soft on a clothes

vine to make it

read cool through the

breeze of toasting wine.

Leave a mean coin fifty for

a pint of frozen, delivered

promptly at the smack of

dawn to the raw step cold

of the door, ready to wield

the whinge and make people

within soft with calf-juice,

woken up from this dream.