Great Allotments of Albion yield up
sweet pea & radish.
The bearded mates look maddish
and lose well
the first challenge, woody, blemished
offerings get scant consideration from the judge,
old before his time, made over for the telly.
A sex god with a perverse
glint in his eyes
when he says ‘the last thing we want to see
is a drooping sweet pea.’
He knows, you know
Bake
spuds, move rainbow, smote bowels, cower
shower.
Get out of this space: mace.
Downside up
outside handcuffs.
Get out of this space:
face.
Run and run, hurt and hide, get out of this
space:
race.
Tulane, hold back! Bivouac, lamb Ada.
Get out of this space: chase.
Chantilly, paper, shoe. Confiscate your…
Get out of this space:
Silent
Angelus:
car noise,
rodeo,
stampede!
Five wide virgins
Still nowt doing
Grimbeau 