Grimbeau

Still dreek dark heavy misty morning.

Half-hearted cock-crow, with my radio on;

pressing for a coffee… strip down terror

suspects by May. No, says June. Bitter spat.

Handbags.

We’re here because we’re here because we’re here

Shifting goalposts. Sand riddle, like the Sphinx.

Typical government trickery, hickory dickory.

Mouse roars, clock flees in floods, sea of time