…

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

…