musings on cuckoos & caca


there’s a bird in a clock

in the bonce

of the masses

as the bright skies lark

& a dark light gasses

like a fart – from the arse

of a granny on the bitter

so the pooh follows through

& the winter is a shitter

says the ghoul in the box

as a fox

trots faster

s & m – yet again

wear a mask – yes master

see the prick’s pantomime

with a climb of a stumble

in a backwards forth

or the apple cart will crumble

so a magpie’s eyes

spy the weasels

in the armour

as the sun drowns down

& the jabberwocky’s scarper

but the stoats still float

over clover of the after

singing spinning hymns

of the cuckoos

& their caca

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