~

banana skin shit ( tihs niks ananab )

…

smoked, like a pope

or a gangland kipper

with green tea leaves

in a mother of a bifta

under silver skin of rizla

with a great imagination

or a magic carrot wand

once the swan is like a magpie

in the ides of june – or somesuch

with odd socks on

don’t forget your anorak

nicknacks, bric-a-brac

syntax saddle shat

beeswax beats

with a goblin, in the forest

of forever’s feathered foghorn

forming shape interface

with a sylphid spirit level

as the gasman gasps

& the mighty milkman sleeps

but the pheasant fez is onions

up a tuesday afternoon

off the tits of wednesday teatime

– that’s a fuckin’ trip

…