Baby powdered white

Footprints under the toilet

Mean death or not or

Sting or swat the

Cat scratching the hand

That feeds the band

Of misfit lunatics

When drizzle strikes the

Scalp and itching tea tree

Bitching about something

Or other, I know not

Neither do you, so what

Kind of robe is she wearing

In the midst of mist and

Dust and swearing we will

Never, ever, ever again

–Anne Hedonia