Like tack

I am an upset camera
leaking film fluid
into commuter coffee cups.

I subtitle the hands
starting forum threads on mood medication,
the rollmop fisted blue T shirt writing a story
about dogs that only shit in the shade.

In my mermaid purse eys
I scull in a kidney shaped cavity,
imagine calmly crossing train tacks
to retrieve a Burberry cap,

soothing the mother with five children
with a song about warm putty people
with a detachable tongues and an off switch
for Sunday mornings.

I smile at the ticket collector
when he asks for my pass
dredge my head up
and explain that I like to travel sideways.