Hard Work/ Soft Focus

Behind every scream there’s beautiful panic

Intoxicating asphyxia

As good fortune not malice

Floating arms are never severed

Workers revel in a machine’s power

An empty riverbed growls for sustenance/ the greedy ocean decides on another route

Embarking on cultural archaeology

            I found something that had never been lost

    The tankard full

                         Less of a tipple

               Kettle whistles, mouths wag as does

                                           The tales upon the troubles

                         A working man now sat upon his own home made shelf

‘All things considered consider yourself one of us,’

                      Someone-anyone- whispered from the tool shed

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