…

your sunken afternoon
came far too sodding soon
if you’re a neutron star
then i’m a minor moon

your blissful sun kissed beach
has crabs & sinking sand
or so to sausage speak
your blossom zen is bland

i’d rather ride atop
a wooden rocking chair
than wander in the blank
of your phantastic there

where khaos only knells
a distant, milksop bell
but nature flaps ‘n’ kens
that all too feathered well

the haunted laughter in
the restless woods & that
the dawdles of the loons
the spoons, the stupid twats

is freer than the ice
the frozen plod in thy
the formless, yawning storm
behind your prudent eye

as panting pantomime’s
a field, a frog, a horse
another sort of muse
another obtuse force

…