Friday 10 April 2020

In bunches they die, In cleaving they die (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Opulent snakes and ladders
on which bullion with ice 
pillow gets kippered
on merit gutless peeling in virtue,
a bouquet of life the lawn 
decibel noise reduction panels &
the doors are closed,
squinting gables through premium 
petrol curls up a secluded Ponte Giardino
and down with our enemies rest on 
cash in chub stained dawn ruses 
you can't chasten a flower-filled consort 
of fair ideals the subordinates keep
keening on some cordoned fence 
crusted in doubloons and trackie bums 
poor bleeders piss off and die
like a rat in the rubbish, 
gilts fléches in Teutoburg Forest
as Autumn of Euro-Ketchup 
nothingness & never today