Daylight Rubbery

Swear down
The morning
Tastes of rubber
Not eraser
The cursor’s where
Your mouth is moored
These boots
Are liquid salt
And things
I can yet afford

The Olive Branch Commander’s Bent

The Olive Branch Commander’s bent
We’re over pick an apple barrel bent
Frequent
No matter of the force we meant
Our leaking taps of scraps for rent
Dissent
Dressing the salad house in Kent
The snakes in grass skirts won’t relent
The Olive Branch Commander’s bent

Out

The fire
Left the fence
As a Frank Kline painting
Then
Like a kid
Before makeup
Was out in twenty

Unmanned Landing

The subtext
Of his subterfuge
Was to park
His fuselage
Without life
Being screwed

The Game is Fowl

Time is up
To which we sup
The death of mystery
Births faken history
Racked brains on racks
Are strained
And imagination snaps
The goose is cooked as
Facts from
Chickens plucked
Ping back
The hunts
Line up their ducks
As turkeys cast
Their votes
The tailors cut
Their tin foil suits
And prepare
To stitch us up

Font Anna

Font
Anna

Tant
Flow

Slash
House

Dill
Pits

Roundel
Scoundrel

Face
Lift

Elken
Issue

Brass
Angle

An
Ad

Con
Quo

Brew
Drop

Taint
Spout

Ameri
Stops

A Phrase I Hate

A phrase I hate

When talking ‘bout his chosen job,

He said “I literally fell into it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tom Daley”

So I let him off, a bit.