Grimbeau

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.