~

if you don’t write … ( … etirw t’nod uoy fi )

…

the birds will go on strike
& picket line the springtide

dawn will lose her chorus
( subtitles unavailable )

as the normalzzz soar
in a bland of opportunity

you, a one of we
the weird beyond the blear

will smoulder as the smoke
on the sixth of november

disappear like keys
or a conjuror’s rabbit

up the back passage
of aimless anus lane

feasting on the bugs
in a philanthropist’s bluetopia

the pens will run dry
like a cursed herd

the spoken word commando’s
of tiktok will rise

like the ghost of mordred
from the lurking shadows

so the sun will shine shades
of shite – not gravy

…