Ragged downladder.

Seek to dissipate boyhood
whilst maintaining desire:

Overt panderings &

Inverted wonderings &

Bells yonder ring

Knells echoing in caves
& Under things

People don’t say what they mean when
they’re pondering.

The wearing-vest chest that is

blessed as caressed,

Cut up & bloodied

to buy time to be studied.

The powder of crystal

So fine in a mist wall

(A shrouding shawl wrapped

And wrenched ’round my face)

And

Ricocheted ’round the place

Is like light out in space

Braving chasms of quarks

& light years of dark

The danger of sparks

It’s a lark so

I don’t know why you drink

Your light spirits of stink

Don’t expect things to link

Or you’ll be in the clink

Or trip over your brink

Hmm.. What should it be about Honey eh?

A mounted yet talking trout is funnier.

Is great weightless? or grace? .. or space? . ..

Time is one of my only wines
Or: 2 whine is the sum of thy lonely wines?

No

Steve the Skipper.

Skipper Steve jumped into his space-time rocket,
Fired up the boosters
And shot off into next Thursday afternoon quite successfully.

His arrival greeted him with a strange airborne alteredness that was probably down to the time travel, he was queasy and it had been a long and boring journey that he would rather forget at this point,
but he had done it!
He knew! He knew!! He knew that he’d known that it was within the bounds of possibility after watching the film “The Time Machine” that is the visual interpretation of the H.G. Wells book –
I mean, that guy just had the thing sat on his living room floor like Steve did!
And he’d now really put years into being once and for all able to really know all the rules about time, you know, all the little strange twists and effects, all the ways it could ever possibly effect him he felt he had a good grip on.
The sun was streaming through the slits in the blinds covering the floor-length windows.
He could hear, was it? Yes! The outside chattering and bustled hollering of the people of this traveled-to day and realm, he wondered if they’d be different and any more welcoming than from where he had come. Would they be any more kind to him?

His reverie was broken by a choked sniffle from at the back of his own nose and he non-suddenly looked down to see an eye droplet hit the painted cardboard arranged about. He was still wearing his suit from when working last – he hated that job and he knew it, and the way his life had happened felt like he couldn’t ever express that properly to anyone. He felt that if he tried people were only pushed back from the surface of the conversation and that everything in those moments became so anodyne that the only thing was just to stop talking, shut up.
“Ahh well,” he piped-up aloud to himself, “everything’s fine, got this baby working and it WORKs!! Where would I be without the rocket fuel, eh?! ‘Daren’t bloody worth thinking about huhah! No naut at all Urggh, ah uhAa…!” and he took a deep soft glug out of the luke-warm tin in his right hand.