Thread-bear walks away, brave and curious

Travelling down a road

Knowing nothing about time and space

 

Happiness of the hangman, as

the Death Row fly is executed.

 

Silken threads, falling heart strings

 

There is death in crowns and crones, in the tender air

We are always cutting threads - or weaving them.

 

I slipped on folded paper that has more than pallid meaning

 

He strides away like a rebuffed

flamingo their love a placentic thread

 

China tea cups for the Queen

 

This little boy will see no daddy

As he lays dead on the bloody floor

 

The thread of me with a thousand souls

Eleven dimensions, all with love and Death.