Loft Asylum
by grimbeau
Downstairs out in
the muck yard for
sun and goose bumps.
In for scrambled eggs,
extortionate salmon,
and putrid sachet sauce,
pub rockers on the box
awake memories of migraines.
The rugby marathon starts below,
Seek sanctuary. ..
A Flower Tower.
Here Mandy Toxic nasalises,
clacks corset dry chortles,
bad urbane gags tickle
jodral bankers, rugby refugees,
the happy dead.
Friday nights propose
Saturday’s doze.
Something about saying “happy dead” is what gets me.
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