Bruised Elbow

And larks sounded

Higher in pitch

Than a space elevator

Dogs whined

Like scoundrels

Purple skies dotted with

Cold stars innumerable

Wandered across my eyes

In wait for an opportunity

To stabbeth mine back

In quick revenge

For sixpence

Sir St. John’s

Churchyard opens

Wide to reveal poor

Yoric’s dull skull

Mirrored ambition

Takes first

After lots were cast

Dinosaurs wore ferns

For laurels when your

Godfather was born.