…

inserting turnips

where the sun don’t stroke

sack the t.v chef

    guillotine the d.j

    chastise the m.p

    rage at the bots

the what’s & the not’s

the lollipop lady

that eats her own roadkill

    twisting frilly knickers

    y-fronts & what the fuck’s

    gasping pantomimes

the a.i e-thot

that ran out of code

so the cloud devoured her

    read all around it

    the pilchard poet

    that wore odd socks again

dot them dots then

droning like a chainsaw

whispering foghorns

    huffing all morning

    twatting all the mirrors

   steaming ’til evening

…