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Gone off bongs, long gone lost John (Prester)
Passionate, if I’m tagged in Reserve a second place, loser sash and badge sadface Trophy space in the bag you brought in I’m all about chaotic displacement Turn a peaceful crescent into Crécy or Passchendaele Residents on self enforced house arrest as long as I remain in residence Always dashing like Santa through lashing snow…
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Wiping my ass with the last unfound Lowry
To you it was everything In your feelings getting heavy To me it was a fling A nothing Just a timewasting thing Told you out front I was cold as a rink Colder than most, on oath Probably won’t live to be old Told me she could take it, control it, mould it Now she…
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The lasting work of blessed hands (pausing before a wall containing a thousand framed portraits of the owner’s hands, palms upturned, against paint-flecked black work slacks)
Only show respect to Aztec Gods Flensed men, malevolent bats and giant frogs You are low spec, floppy-ready Still making shop trips to buy credit Couldn’t install Age of Empires or browse the net Closing the net, feeling spenny might drop a rack or ten, whole fortunes In the back, more racks than a dungeon…
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Grown ass man’s shoes, never worn
Over 50s unmarried male Guaranteed to own a special plate Key meal times, can’t be changed Very picky, peas and potatoes no interplay What edges a relationship’s compromise sands down In a bachelor begins standing out Black-tie event, serving Sam the Clown from Sandown Manners ill becoming a man of your slim talents So many…
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Scrotes hating growth
Outgrew that old coat In this game you rarely get to be an old goat when you’re made That’s the game we play Walking along blades, dancing on flames Got them squirming over my earnings They had that, the worm turned And turned me to a master, journeymen Still on their journey, got the trophy…
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Alchemisland 