the fully clothed streaker

your new favourite poem

another foggy poem

upon unrumouring the village weasels

born this waveform

no added chemicals

just an early birdbath

broken like the morning has

short of o ( oh? )

when the stars charted

things you aut’ to know

& other prosy codes

not the poxy spew

of the clatter in the bots

pissing like pots

them of munting bunting

headless like a king

singing wanker songs

dung-heap tongues

spinning dark yarns

shoo, you shimmerings

kiss my arsenic

these are the annals

of the handkerchiefs & flannels

rhyming with a pen

when the ink quenches

shining with a tealight

on your little shadow-shite