( ~ )

~

( ~ )

in the morning’s moo
music is the glue

stick it like a twig
branch another jig

catch a cabbage star
see the phantom far

scrawling back again
pissing in the rain

as the maidens milk
juice a sheen of silk

churn a rusted key
warble forth & see

pigs in yawning skies
soar with butterflies

prose on toasted bread
some o’ those & spread

the things we taste

~

the things we taste ( etsat ew sgniht eht )

rain on the tingles
of an outstretched tongue

sweet saharan sand
if she pisses from the south

gloopy spoons of custard
straight from the can

frozen pizza slices
– but i prefer the cooked ones

twisted tales of thule
& a hymn from hyperborea

spinning in the blizzards
of those polar vortices

mushy peas ‘n’ cheese
on a buttered, toasted crumpet

bluebottles buzzing
in our curried parsnip soup

fresh bull dung
from the paper’s latest headline

vindaflu ‘n’ chips
with a naan to kill y’ nan

tea, if we scribble
in the riddle of the morning

milk, six sugars
plus a tin o’ ginger nuts

adjective, noun & verb

~

adjective, noun & verb ( brev & nuon ,evitcejda )

ardent aardvarks ascend

baboonish beavers bassoon

chemical cosmonauts conga

dead diplodocuses dither

english eels echo

feathered frenchman foghorn

gallant gasmen gargle

holographic housewives howl

itchy iguanas isobar

junkie janitors jamboree

kaput kettles kip

lazy lighthouses lap

milky martian marvel’s

nonchalant normies nosedive

operatic onyxes ossify

pisspot prussians placate

quizzical queens quacking

red rosebushes retreat

sylpihd saturday shakes

turgid tuesday’s toes

underling unicorns utter

vampish vole vibrations

weeping weasels wassail

xanthum xylophones xylocarp

yellow yesterday yarns

z-list zeus zithers

banana skin shit

~

banana skin shit ( tihs niks ananab )

smoked, like a pope

or a gangland kipper

with green tea leaves

in a mother of a bifta

under silver skin of rizla

with a great imagination

or a magic carrot wand

once the swan is like a magpie

in the ides of june – or somesuch

with odd socks on

don’t forget your anorak

nicknacks, bric-a-brac

syntax saddle shat

beeswax beats

with a goblin, in the forest

of forever’s feathered foghorn

forming shape interface

with a sylphid spirit level

as the gasman gasps

& the mighty milkman sleeps

but the pheasant fez is onions

up a tuesday afternoon

off the tits of wednesday teatime

– that’s a fuckin’ trip

the things we touch

~

the things we touch ( hcuot ew sgniht eht )

sticky conker buds
in the doldrums of spring

keys in back pockets
chiming in time

pimples with a pinch
& nettles with a wince

rain upon skin
if the grey snakes in

clouds, if we climb
up a baked bean stalk

sound with a quake
as the bones vibrate

hands with a shake
coz the ‘rona’s overrated

toes with a creak
& chins with a stroke

butter fingered smoke
clutching ghost straws

hearts of lost souls
barge poles – with barge poles

sheet, if we ink
phantom tangents in fog

& cloth
when we leg it to the bog