Paused to watch in awe
as porksausage is slowly herded into
a red hot oven.
Ponderous rise to thirteen hundred handclaps;
read back through unfinished work–capable, superficial, slapdash
up yours to writing courses.
Sausage time after chess defeat debacle.
Still life goes on in a glass bunion reading mad sestinas
loose limbed shambling to a close
Mist not clearing, rigid grey stays
As weary corseteers drink creamy
Chicken cuppa soups
& tongue inscrutable croutons
Corrugated tin roof soundbite din
Wet cats weeping sombre buckets
Waiting for morsels
Or dead fledglings
Lost drowned commencing maiden flight.
A quick gasper, juicy goss and prattle
then back to graffiti whalebones
Curse those deft big hollow needles
The sky went orange: locusts