Saturday, April 4, 2015

Tom Tom


Tom the piper's son,
check your messages . . .
And so provide us with a puff of smoke,
To the dragon who thought just one thing
It rose up and averted its eyes  . . .
    then snuck back to its cave.

But no, she of the hawk-faced ministry cried "No."
And called forth the frogs, who in unison chanted, "No-oo!"
Who called the judge, who came out and neatly said . . . .
    "Permission denied. The accused shall be returned to the jails."

The girl who moved into the flat above mine smiled at me in the hall.
She has blonde hair and a lovely streak of blue through it.

Coming, shooting from muddy waters,
 . . . numbing beauties, Luddite daughters.
Jupiter moons on a glassy night,
 . . . feathered specks on a glossy snipe,
Hatted jazz-men eat free corn,
 . . . How my girlfriend likes her porn.
Watch me feed her crocodile,
 . . . as we bleed, our love's on trial.
Now the beetle crawls on granite,
 . . . . down the needle, towards our planet.




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