Electrical is a chitchat bong                 your physics shout fare
The Scenic Railway rollercoaster    ¡¡2 tokens!!    a chart barks
that Libra’s knees up-ended you before, here-here thy Paddle Pop cur
I once flamed my tongue on a fructose that whisked
along namesakes of JASON. Kinder Egg it is the weathermen
                                                                               it is you, jape
wire a gunshot spoon-fed from the nostrils of slow



cooking tradesmen
                                King Gees fellating a menthol with a Christ-load of scrape
who rectify our sewage of conversational Twisties
bbq with broadband. Your hand
pornographic and stinking of postcodes, gambols toward an infinitesimal pace
                      an antelope lovelorn
                      mindlessly excreting out nuggets 
                      and roving whole daikon of grin, an African
                      necklace these dangles an
                                           oh. Oh tranquil cappuccino!
                                           Can Bruce Milne hang on this corner
with you?



until the bridge of our feet swell and radio’s bunghole
                                                     beads sweat as it fans
                          out its clutch of pineapples forty-sixty-one ragged minutes in suit
of your companionship? Spade, This is not what you think, ma’am. You see
                                               that fruitmonger down there in a windbreaker
filling bantam slacks a-go-go chestnuts and hips? That proprietor clucking amongst 
dashboards of broccoli
tyre treads of ripe kale
figs dumbed by the custard of fables. He’s switched on
                      Anjou, Mr Pear? You’re thinking about butter sticks
                      in private places. I’m thinking about trespassing
                      ceramic saucers with carp. And He’s haggling with Jupiter



about at what price one ought become suicidally beautiful 
                                            in Siddhartha’s basement
   of October. Okay, so it’s your first mandarin
hang time oh please those teeth try it on
   lawyer’s gear and laughed apart              triangular
line goed South. Grinning at            dwarves
                              where
behind the via some               unscrupulous throat
a cold dead linoleum unfurls into Richmond. Pisces is dead. No compass
nor any viable hand 
in which to bargain the custard
                                                    apple down out its can
                                                    or the fables from dog food caught in aspic that’s Man.