Flies in superposition above a heap of unwashed delf
Searching google for help tells me they adore vinegar
Adding washing up liquid to my mixture to affix them
Stuck, luckless no more alighting, last flight of the Phoenix.
Linger long a song’s length to die, I expect Mr. Bond
Once bonded ionically, names become cruelly ironic
A fly is now a stay, and I am free to wait
For toast without being assailed by waves
Of hideous buzzing flies
Like I was at toothwired mire
Bulging corpse-pregnant, Ypres or Marne
Flies dislike smoke, well I’m burning indica
Giving no indication I’m hanging fly strips.
Alchemisland 
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