A Girl In a Red Hat

This is a tale, a tale from the past
A story that’s told, and you know it will last
Listen to the words and you will find, that this story is in all of our minds

A tale that involves a girl in a red hat, who wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
besides her a man whose standing on one leg, leaning against a marbled pole that looks dank
the distance you hear the a sound of beeps, the scream of some birds and a menacing creep

There are lights that flash on and off in the gloom
the gloom of a morning thats not awake
like an old forgotten god whose at the bottom of a lake

meetings are coming, meetings to go to
opportunities not missed by those who known to

circles and cakes, people you meet
people is people who are at your feet

and still the girl who had a red hat, wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
waiting and watching and seeing these things, doesn’t move or know what they mean

and presently a Seagull whose a little bit bored, waddles aimlessly up to this broad
squarks a pertinent inquiry at the rosette crested girl
who looks at it westerly as if shes unwell

the seagull tells her that it is a man, and comes from a island in a very different land
and she doesn’t think or indeed move at all and simply smiles

for miles and miles there wasn’t one person who saw
the seagull and girl fly to the land of man of the swell

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Just simply custard 

Human hearts are pie chart resistant a Pigeon beans itself of the upper floor window and a the eggs are on the top shelf 

Cow like men giving little jobs to Swallow like girls, stones in their shoes, rocks tie their songs in the air

Good taste give, the bovine men call them honoury dykes, laughing then coughing black smoke billowing into the air 

Dogs in the backseat of the ute, the company of which is looking at a ancheint dirty pub

The two smile switch on their punk gynocentric music blasting a song about a women who is spilling her guts to confession of her sexual desires

The chase to get away from the bovine spongiform encephalopathy filled smoke on the hot dry tropical iconclastic malevolently 

Gaudy slippery muddily punctuation like pot holes occasionally exposing loose fitting overalls 

Clouds of a stormfront cover Montagine and St Augustine’s watchful gazes as they travel the warm sticky outback

Pertinent driving in the unbreakable Hilux breaks away from the emerging sunlights gaze

Eyes red and wet from the stormy Christmas weather, stuffing the air. The lightning makes a running jump

Ahead a creek is swelling with feelings of epistemological rains searing the creekbed 

They must delay of be cast into the zeitgeist waters and face the banality of the common trough

The bovine men can be seen on the horizon eating fruitbowls of mangos covered in matricide sauce