There is nothing difficult,
Just difficulties
That bed themselves in
Daily, sometimes hourly.
Thrice, one hour
When she put her boot
Into his amnesty
With the force
Of a brass tongue
And begged Hammurabi
For a fat sentence.

So he wears her love
Like a Friesian landscape,
Kiss soft
Statement strong
And blind-eyes
The words he sloppily jirbles
Like distasteful beans,
Leashes song words
Midstream;
For radio is his saviour,
His highway to reality.