~

if you don’t write … ( … etirw t’nod uoy fi )

…

the birds will go on strike
& picket line the springtide

dawn will lose her chorus
( subtitles unavailable )

as the normalzzz soar
in a bland of opportunity

you, a one of we
the weird beyond the blear

will smoulder as the smoke
on the sixth of november

disappear like keys
or a conjuror’s rabbit

up the back passage
of aimless anus lane

feasting on the bugs
in a philanthropist’s bluetopia

the pens will run dry
like a cursed herd

the spoken word commando’s
of tiktok will rise

like the ghost of mordred
from the lurking shadows

so the sun will shine shades
of shite – not gravy

…

~

the truth about train conductors ( srotcudnoc niart tuoba hturt eht )

…

they’re always born
on a wednesday teatime

delayed because the trees
went on strike

so there were no leaves
to use as an excuse

on the lines between the stations
& other destinations

as gremlins nicked the sleepers
senior management ate quail

& another swan dies
on the duck pond of despondency

…

~

actual effing monkey nuts ( stun yeknom gniffe lautca )

…

bat shit tamarinds

mad macaques with loosened screws

lunatic baboons

…

~

cool poem ( meop looc )

…

~

this poem is the corpse

of a cucumber farmer

still wearing shades

in a haunted mortuary

~

a vortexed breeze

in the doldrums of january

blue moonbeams

or jack frost’s handshake

~

this poem is the mermaids

that swim europa’s oceans

or a lost sunbather

in the deepest dark of space

~

cubes in the glass

of your homemade lemonade

sipping as she fizzes

& bubbles in the shade

~

this poem is the dogs

– sploshing in the river

& polar bears smoking

p.g tips

~

this poem is cool

like a second hand cagoule

or a yeti in an ice bath

– top that, y’ tool

…