Where the
air cushion
hits the
post apocalyptic
tarmac
like eighties
hover punk
I guess
you feel me Jack?
the tossing out
the string-along
not much of
a world-build
truth to tell
the plot is thin
and that's one
lily
I can't gild
Don't need fortune fame respect or speed.
All writings © Jonathan Mark Hamlow 1998-2025