…

henry the bloody eighth
will soon be henrietta

never underestimate
alt-historians

they’re proper gobby
like the climate changelings

in hi-vis orange
lost without a rhyme

as now is the sound
of the chatter on twatter

& dead sheeran lives
in this golden age of beige

but king charles is not my
elvis ruddy presley

& no flesh android voted
for sausage starmer’s rent boys

…

…

we, the mutant few
genetic blips-r-us

the early birdsong
fortuna’s mood swings

& other such factors
beyond the machina

for this phantos
& their experiments

~

we, a windswept meadow
the autumn in retreat

a woodland hermitage
so muddy green trousers

growling back at clouds
& the normalz folk

in their sadness town
beyond that plod

~

we, the speaking bones
up shit creaking tones

but no paddle
all wax & no saddle

perhaps a missive stuck
a post-it-note memo

god save the parsnip
turnip lives matter

~

we, the letters writ
to messrs nobody

the footpath much less
trodden is the tonic

as the hedgehogs fly
at supersonic speed

& a tin with nothing in
is the musical glue

…