…
baroque in a frock
the devil’s chord calls
clammy jazz hands
on the brow & forehead
rafting on the rafters
mizzle in your underpants
milk ‘tache mishaps
gaps between each gasping
catching the drift
of a woodland in slumber
perhaps the bishop lied
& monday is our oyster
a postcard in the post
from the younger dryas
the morning was a hag
& darkness was her nostrils
the clouds still growl
if we try to feed them fudge
u-boats & u-bends
whitsun is distant
the tide is a highness
‘pon a giant’s throne
as us cabbages
pen in awkward rectitude
rectories rattled
’til the battle was a draw
we became the ivy
on a battered garden fence
gland ahoy & balls
the kettle still sings
…