…

we became the pages
like the photographs
of the calendar’s turn
over & collapse

catch another breath then
whack the kettle on
formerly’s a rain cloud
once is now upon

i, the ‘nana milksop
shaken like a leaf
tumbles in the breezes
time is but a thief

you, the feathered future
darker than the crack
of a massive arse’ole
so shadows attack

furthermore it’s autumn
winter’s on its way
walk into the evening
as the mantis pray

’til the badgers samba
as the toadstools spore
roaming in the gloaming
knocking on death’s door

…