BANK HOLIDAY

THE houses on a see-saw rush In the giddy sun’s hard spectrum, push The noisy heat’s machinery; Like flags of coloured heat they fly. The wooden ripples of the smiles Suck down the houses, then at whiles, Grown suctioned like an octopus, They throw them up again at us, As we rush by on coloured bars Of sense, vibrating flower-hued stars, With lips like velvet drinks and winds That bring strange Peris to our minds.