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flap’s the phantom yonder forest  (  b a s t e d  o n  a  t r u e  s t o r y  )

…

flap's the phantom yonder forest

in the weasel of the night

as the golden pipe for porridge

under blackened beams of light


& the sunken sun is kippers

in the wingdom of the owl

then the elfin shit in knickers

as the headless badgers growl


in the brambles of the thicket

at the shiver of the moon

as a silence strikes the crickets

& a whisper sings a tune


in the silver of the birches

& the mumble of the oaks

as an antlered umbra lurches

& a silva toad - it croaks


at the witches & the wizards

in the fiddle of the fire

with the serpent & the lizards

to the diddle of a lyre


& the pheasant stalks the foxes

then the speckled cockerel yawn

flap's the phantom yonder forest

but it's cracking come the dawn

...