I Kid you not
04/09/2025
@9.51am
©∞
‘I kid you not,’ the copy said,
‘E hoa,’ etc, ’tis on your head-
should children read before it’s bed
and learn they’re baby goats instead?’
‘I kid you not,’ the teacher laughed,
‘It’s written in each paragraph,’
she’s nearly right, well, several times
the epithet is on the lines
between the globohomo sketch
which honestly would make one retch;
they’re lines of slop, I kinda think,
an artificial waste of ink
when poets and painters, languishing,
could be consulted, not a thing.
Fingers of fiction
30/08/2025
12.02pm
©∞
I’m not pointing any fingers as there are too many instances
Where I write a song and then some ‘megastar’ surfaces
I live on the skids and they mainly become billionaires
Because I had a stalking team take me on unawares
They impersonate humans and jump around the universe
They’re all so unassuming & charming, could not be worse
They all talk in code & divide time like underwears which
Ride up your crack and catch you on the stairs
My fingers are cold and my
Brain has been rolled just like
My Pappa told me would happen
If I hit the road with no
Mind for the stoat and the
Weasel of copyright crappen
The programmed fingers of fate pointed at my profile when
My Pappa laboured long, long hours at his mahogany writing desk again
My mother made us love and bread and inimicable imagination
And I learned to dance on the sand dunes where the wind gave invitation
Now who follows me it is
So plain to see because
Copyright glee is her fancy
She dances in red with a
Mike at her head as she
Dribbles for bread and romancey fictions. (Not a swallow but…)
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