i'm still too scared to wear white socks under sandals pulled up to my knees for fear of bastard judgement from a variety of angles in this so-ciety oh no doubt them gingers would stick their bloody oar in then yell YOU'RE GOING TO HELL so it's odd socks 'n' trainers aye a different form of strangeness no death threats yet yes all is well x ...
a pecking order the system of chicken the sequence of beak ( me first ) ...
the pillow factory exploded in the middle of the night it awoke the sleeping town folk with a boom & a fright it blew up with intensity well-beyond smithereens leaving just the neatest, cleanest crater ever-seen (?) ...
dear my dear tiger tin in which i keep stuff 'n' things you were £1 in poundland you were bought on a whim since then through thick & thin from front rooms to festivals i cant be without you essential as testicles yes without you one's lost like grime without wiley or countdown sans perving at rachel riley oh my dear tiger tin in which i keep shit 'n' things i fucking love you oddly my heart sings x ...
as the wind picks up & in places whistles i ponder that slippery mystery - male nipples we don't really need them yet there they sit surely the gods are telling us that everyone's a tit ...
recently i've not been myself yes far too often i've been someone else all morning i've been mary queen of scots implicated by that bastard babbington plot & if i carry on this gender-bend way no doubt they'll behead me down at fotheringhay yes recently i've not been myself since the others spiked my apple juice - blame everyone else ...
if i had a penny for every time i lost a penny i'd be loaded with bastard shrapnel pennies many many & if i had a penny for every time i 'spent a penny' i'd sit on my arse & just drink tea my bladder would gradually finance me ...
poetry's 'special' & that's why it's essential like a fat man when it really is just glands poetry's 'special' ...
pear soap cauliflower ears banana skin skid-marks a pea in a bottle & cherry blossom ...
i fucking love you Summer you are the fucking bestest the chubby sweaty thumbs of your uncle-esque caresses old inhibitions disappear when them sheep get sheared any other season & this would be fucking weird ...
resarf poetry 