Tag: Wildfowl

countdown to ecstasy…



Waiting for Blow Up!
messaging the gas board—
the sound of the lag
shinning down the drainpipe
hiding from the chain gang
Attila the Hen
collared by our intrepid footpad
Noel ‘Scoop’ Malarkey
Of The Avocado – authenticated
Fake News straight from the
oval lozenge stuck to the
Georgian mantelpiece
Daily drivel delivered direct
to your little orange paw.
Spirit of Adventure, St
Elsewhere, St hEnhousemuir
How I hate Fair Isle jumpers
—never eat two for God’s Sake
Beautiful—it’s not


Eleven bellows
cogitate thirty eons
of time that never was, is,
or ever will this day forth:
More coffee and quanta, my Duck?
Und warum nicht, my Leda?

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