– Lewis Liski

Plastic tack.
Schmack, slipped, slack.
Merged teams on a seemingly linear track.

Your hands collected drops of drip back.
Upon a surface brushed white, coloured to crack.

Pennies short of dollars.
Washed down gradient beams.
To gleam fundraising collars, for bottomless coffee’s cream.

Spin the bottle on the roof.
Tell them of all those schemes.
Post-post modern poof, for receding smoke and newborn screams.

Paint the magic.
Make it tragic.
Destroy the beauty.
It’s an honourable duty.

A look likeness tape tidiness.
The greatness that won’t go away.
If your kindness can maintain the strokes as they fray.