Too Round to Be Square
The desperate angel
Sits in the dark
Wings in a fold
Arrow through her heart.
The tepid stream
Runs for a medal
Silver beats gold
And gives her a start.
Too fine to be smooth
Too greedy to share
Too blue to be colour
Too round to be square.
The perspex heath
Melts in the sun
The liquid slips
To a room at the front.
The merry house
Has a girl's name
A plastic fox
Drunk at the hunt.
Writer/s: Marty Willson-Piper
