there's a badger in my soup & i've no idea why the world's tiniest badger it's the size of a fly it wasn't on the menu i don't know what to do there's a badger in my soup - no, wait now there's 2 ... (author nodes; the plot thickens (again) )
Poetry
a fortnight’s worth of beardy-weird stubble on a day bursting with bubbles
carbonated horoscopes the morning blows its straw nucleation for the nation bristly hangs the jaw effervescent lathered barms balloons of consumed air fuddles bastard bubbles versus confused facial hair ...
knit
knit for britain knit for mittens knit for jesus et al knit toy mice for kittens knit for its therapy knit for the therapists knit balaclavas for hooligans & terrorists knit for the faerie folke knit for your family knit together black holes knit for reality knit for warm winter scarves knit through all shit knit for infinity knit knit knit knit ...
wild flowers among castle ruins
wild flowers among castle ruins the head's a beverage thoughts-a-brewin' as life plods on & all that glibness they say here's haunted a wraith i've yet to witness apart from the headless ones consequences - quencecons a punished uprising but now most of the stones have gone as bricks for the local homes scattered yet abound like these wild flowers but the other way around ...
glistening christening
may all not drown what sail in this poem may its trees bear fruits as its nymphs blow flutes has it had the jabs? has it been chipped & tagged? can it find profound - ideally via nincompoop? maybe one candlemas this poem will get married or maybe it's gay - also legal nowadays & maybe it'll burn young or outlive the sun so good luck little wanker the beginning's just begun ...
make your own friends
make your own friends out of cardboard boxes then add faces to these friends with paint or marker pens yeah - don't listen to them flesh-based give cardboard friends a chance as they're easier to get on with & sometimes friendship leads to romance ...
( … lunnchh … )
a poem in a sandwich it was packed with ornate language it didn't go down well (digestive tract struggled) but on the innards muddled the ink was slightly sweet yet subtle like chestnuts or fox must (some words swished in the stomach for a bit) ...
hop is hope without the e at the end
there were at least 3 ants & an earwig in my shoe & as-per the wind chime that technically a zoo so i just wore the left 1 & hopped - as we do like a nucking futter to our evening rendezvous ...
busy bodies
busy bodies interferin' curtain twitchin' window peerin' stick y' nose in stick y' oar in t' fill in your gaps 'cause y'borin' passin' judgement with disdain we don't do that yet no refrain instead y' tut with god as y' witness just fuck off & MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS ...
on the day of woden
a when-inclined breeze gently rustles the rowan as spring muddles on spreading green things in motion i wonder how old's birdsong? it's a puzzling notion but the sky is blue - like hidden clues on the day of woden ...
resarf poetry 