Spuds on, oven off.
Daily Gerontius with Olive Spadeface.
Leaves are hard to draw when you’re crap.
Two bags of Walker’s previously salted & some savoury balls of
Obscure provenance.
It’s a rap trap, Baby – & you been tort.
That’s me in the sauna, losing my spaghetti.
Blob and Mutt.
They of the far-famed gut
Jellyroll Morpeth.
Son of that sod: Maximillian Swell.
Cast of Godsends, back from the groove.
Loosely hanging, cockless in Dawlish
waiting for a brain. Feeling Vera’s
braiding Himmler’s genes. One. One. One.
Wanton crayon crimes christen hallowed books
Left about to make an impression
to go well with the curtains;
torturing the prize Siamese
just to hear its quirky hiss.
The smell of burning hair
that will be you one day.
This day, all day, every day,
but not forever.
One day you get yours
From the Orc
On level Chesil