~

while my bellend gently weeps ( speew yltneg dnelleb ym elihw )

…

i staggered by
clutching crackled ribs

swearing like a nun
in the snare of lententide

crocuses croaked
spring drabbed in dribs

daffodils danced
by the side of the ode

so serpents stirred
where the green grass gleamed

curtains still twitched
in the little weasel village

busybodies bullshat
butchers bitched shit

bakers burnt cakes
& hot cross buns

candlemakers waxed
like a blooming gibbous moon

as the road forked forth
like a runcible spoon

scamdemics wane
– this way or twat?

normalz dodged nothing
but the lepers in their heads
…