…

annoyingly oblique
like the two-a-penny prose
in poetry review

& other such squirms
the winter wind won’t sing
her lips are sealed frozen

the calendar cannot
recite in rhyming cantons
the cobwebs of tomorrow

i long to gaze & gawp
like a curtain twitching darren
at the form of each future

the line work & notation
the back, the sack & crack
to choose a brighter upgrade

& not more bland ahoy
as the wank in your angst
is the ants in your pants

yet the kitchen sink
the custard creams, the third crusade
the golden age of steam

the councils & the demes
the cotton clouds – if sung aloud
& we’re all backwards now

…