Terrible infants juggle fishnet-green bottles under sad, lime-green oaktrees, cisterns balanced on their sea-green heads.
Christmas swings onto focus, the chiseling undertakers rent long, sad race-courses to walk on and they collide with other hypocrites out for a ridiculous Sunday stroll … too.
the glow worms and the ocean liner
Wedges of blue cheese unimportantly placate each other, climbing, ever climbing. Now the move is done – last steps under the sun – I trust – my products are second to none – no untrustful beatitudes – unlikely to calm sodden souls, unlikely to reap what they sow – a million glow-worms bedeck the night…
Birds pass UFO
The calling birds bend their flightpath to accommodate a passing ufo. the three-fingered hands wave at them from behind round ufo’s windows.
The ticklish buses do not serve the matter well. We took it in turns to question them with sharp words and peacock feathers, but they remained silent, apart from the gentle purr of their idling engines. It was Platypus who first realised that their vocal chords had been removed, (ouch!), and replaced with 42…
THE HAIRDRESSERS 2
One stoat, one weasle, one backpack, one mercanary and one Pluralist with nothing to say. Call out the inspirations, they’ve got nothing under their thumbs. they are beatific and transmogrified and they sit like roses on top of mountains. Also, why not go to Germany or Australia in the fall? There maybe a box containing…
been to the hairdressors. what do you think?
“Market Song” written by Jerry Spurlock, performed by Tony Chapman by lieghonsea on SoundCloud
http://soundcloud.com/lieghonsea/market-song-written-by-jerry The specks of stars litter the night sky and I sneak beneath them feeling vulnerable to their stare like I’m a mouse and they are countless hawk eyes about to drop. Luckily I reach shelter before they do. And from the safety of indoors, looking out through the window’s glass I appreciate their beauty…
The Great Obliterator
Still holding the reins of resistance – uncomplicated, disturbed, ruleless, the Great Obliterator, on flower decorated hobnail boots; walks the last hundred, perfumed miles, unchallenged and unchannelled. Biff, the comic-book character, arouses anxiety only in those who……
Klaxtown Races (Old man song)
We caught an extravagant bus from Wyoming to Minnesota on the morning of the 10th of June as a ridiculous sun toppled the ancient Aztec buildings of Klaxton Town in a clear mist. How hypocritical were the Geesha girls, standing by the the rubbish bins waiting for the solid Dustmen to come marching out…
Zinc figures emerge from cradle-rocking mist. They are bluffing, of course. There are no back-up plans rolled up in their back pockets, no call-out plans, no recitals blandly reclining in an unobtrusive manner in their back pockets. No, cash in hand, they delightfully extricate themselves from the mist. Oh, how they smile and cough out…