The Tomb of the Unknown Swimmer
Careful with the ax now. capillary pumphouse. Needles. Back to skin. Neck of Lamb to tenderise. Food for thought indeedy.
Gravel falls on the Bog of Allen, the mighty Shannon, and her puss, Apostrophe—so the world turns purring tortoise shell streched
Quick swallows catch the eye. A Little cloud passes glacial slow. Count the fingers on each hand.Made a note for future reference.
Filed it under Pluvium. Fine was his soft chestnut mop. Hair moves like water rushes. Liquid. Jealous. Moi you bet.
Eyes souls windows see. Little green cloudburst. Plain as the nose on your Holiness. Put my furt innit there. Engage then utter. Nerves to blame. Jitters. Too willing to plead loathsome
Articles before the fact denied. Nosey eyes mouth off truth be known look just like Picasso by nightwatchman snoozing
‘The Tomb of the Unknown Swimmer’ got a certain I dunno quite sweet about it. Popeye’s on! All hail good fortune to Folkestone
Vicar—he who didn’t make it before the replay of Match of the Day. the man who swam around the British Isles sustained by bananas
alone, a flotilla of yellow peels in his wake, wailing sirens rest, fruity pleasure cruiser horn blasts gone, but Leicester are going to the
Boss’s funeral in Siam and cannot make and the bandstand children of Woking are absent after the inflatable slide occurrence, and the SAS
have gone to look for the swimmer now feared subsumed by banana skins suspected to be caught on a rip tide once captured sublimely by
Turner after wild sex on the beach with Tracy Emin listening to Black Uhuru passing by bareback riding on a rescue donkey who hatched a
secret Brexit plan with Ant coz decks got cold feet on sensible browns and sees no future in the past and dreams of pastures new in Ruislip
off seventies gatefold albums—Mornin’—Mornin’ Door slams too.Away to go or overnighter forgot toothbrush and pyjamas bless him anyway