Parliament House or Dung Heap
Like Today’s Story of the Shirt
a plateful of sundry wretches
in such a way that they could
only have endured it, but ask
on about villages?
Middlesex and Epping forest
happy people like pilchards in bottom
cask under cook the dome of sky,
nothing is wasted nothing is spoilt
bar frizz salver piss in a pot look on
or hang off spit and ill-blood
even if you have no property
by the nightshirt liniment
yr enjoying the anon?
No actual mention of sausages, however.
Squabbling on a livelihood
I don't much care for beautiful
buildings run over with flowers,
Bastion builds flashing on and off
as ward-mote leads to Garden Bridge™
bibbing in sun before looting scaffold goes up.
Dear Adrian Glasspool,
Last resident we cannot maintain '26 acres of land for one person’.
blood hooked
stack commuter sprawl in w/ broken
statist one by one for flogging on out
down the metropolitan line
mortarboard tradition staggers
to a croupier fireside chewing
nothing much but embers
of prole-whispers
ROMEO Y JULIETA
Gives us bad chests solidarity
comrades signing off for lack
of cap touch to the very cleanest
of beautiful souls earldom starves the fiend
in modest deliberation;
a charred linnet buff burning for burnings sake
tend sideways for attrition of One Market
denominator pierrot on
true-hearted News Corp drawbridge it simply is
what shape our bananas have got to be,
and all that kind of thing or
a high-leviathan foisted arbitrage
like my gaffer's yonder;
I whiffle and pleat expert experts forming permalinks
In my head of Continentalist stanchions
to and fro in worry one handbook to another, belayed
