~

midas piss ( some contemporary pastoral bollocks )

…

the morn is gold

as midas piss

then palpitate

our minds are fish


among the air

on land - on feet

the sky's still blue

but bird song's sweet


like irn bru

so hit them fields

or so to speak

the earth too feels


as thoughts they drip

the many leaks

monsters still lurk

there in the deep


but fuck that wank

feel free to swear

there's no way that

ma nature cares


she made this shit

- oh look, a swift

with stuff they've nicked

for you - a gift


then thereupon

our footpath green

a clover grows

with leaves thirteen


so lucky us

truly we're blessed

this scenery

fills in the rest

...