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OPERATION
I’m chewing but not on a fruit pastille Tuned in to evil, I deserve the Bastille Many misspent yesterdays, my powder like the home of an eskimo I’m a cute hooer, pastiche of better chancers and pesterers at home Who patrolled these sole-molested streets donkey’s years back I’ve got a scales, gauge swaying as it…
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High as times
New strain from Neptune High grade, hits great Under its sway Easily persuaded To engage With green I’m not Gawain It’s not greengages aging in my wicker basket Not that you’re asking.
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Stormy night scared of lightning
Riots in my bonce, in my human bonnet Writing by the light from my bronze sconce Sky alight, a Zeusian riot these past two nights Maryblue forks when Thor outrides Storm tonight no riders on it, writers love it Needy trotters greedily, gleefully smacking a typewriter’s keys, teasing Out a rough schema, the freehand sketch…
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Apartment side
Oven hot inside despite My ringbearer insisting she turned off the heating first thing This evening upon her arrival home We’re Irish and raingrown, both groaning “It’s roasting!” Moaning non-stop, shirtless and sweating I’d bet this is a sign of the end, if I did betting The world had its day, nice wedding with confetti…
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can’tdrivecunt
Revving at traffic lights I ignite, sliding Slick as a dickie bow on Poseidon All these rivals not on my side Want me ignoring street signs unto my demise Cropdust the lot of these crap driving opps Exhaust spluttering buttery fog they struggle to drive through Like McDonald’s changed the route to the window booth…
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Alchemisland 