999

My weary legs slowly plod the ploughmans brain and, with buttercup boots destroy watercoloured lives by consciencebristled brush excrete: orifice bespectacled; round and plump. Eggshell cooks in harmony drape meaty fumble pies: legstuff lumps in toiletroll formations fly the presidential buildings by. Rainbow spattered, shadowed eyes drain out the crimson shining pates incarnadine with age do stain; bloody, round and plump. As runny noses down the window drip and permeate the sill, Freedom fights a poor man's might and hold the sun in flight and sees the sky roll by; much fingered, round and plump.

| Poetry Index | 1971 Magazine Index | HOME |