bullocks in the graveyard


bullocks in the graveyard ( daryevarg eht ni skcollub )

through the rotten fence
where the ash branch fell

on soaked oak posts
after indra bolted

came the storming hordes
of cloven hoofed yoofs

tagged like wrong’uns
out on parole

mooing for freedom
in the doldrums of june

cheeky fresian bastards
hared upon the greenery

fucking up the grass
chomping on the flowers

in the crystal vases
as the vicar legged it

larking like tomorrow
is a distant cousin

as the farmer napped
in the haybarn’s loft

death row’s fugitives
next month’s bourguignon

patted with aplomb
on your true love’s headstone

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