about that never ending happening a sad stone’s throw away from me, do the math between the points, head to tail Avoid a change mid-motion & sway only a touch further out each time a new orbit, but the same perfume take mortality, for example, how metaphors doctor its spin As if we could bookmark days by the fidgeting eye who breathes at cost, a centrifugal economy between zero and no hours walks up and down Old Kent asking the grass in the park what a summer it has been! so much green washed away before the clouds. The whole UK is a sad yellow patch on Google Earth (overheard in Morrisons) well i say the ground owes nothing to summertime standards to someone's feel-good symbolic order. A world with no ground will need no symbols. More green meets the eye than any other colour, and yet, Sad Yellow, did you ever thank the blues for the grass turf’s green?