You and the amoeba
crusade add more vaseline
it helps reproach the skin
promotes bacterial proliferating
on the surface of this wound
leading to infection of the guardia
the fixed levy of my held lapels
by civil recon the light of
recovery is just a format
soaking nerves high-end
when the ventricles are full
of mother rot, you split
into moonlight the roof
of my chanting mouth
estuary for the love of drink
make it known on buswheels
make it sound in deathbred
for the shrewd enemy salvo
always in a brotherly junta
I bathe in Holsten
larger remember
you roll idle in plumage
safely unworked
I use tiny magic hammers
as if no tomorrow to abolish starres
on this sad & sorry land no good kip
fills me with milk laissez faire,
we have our names and hold
them like lost Jules Rimet and wait
knuckles down for our Mr. Pickles
in the hedgerows, but my
slip chain of self-appreciation
fails me cry me a ladder
I am to be buried in My Back Garden
with all the Angry Men.
