Sunday 26 July 2020

gettinthebackofthevan (DRAFT)

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 
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.