Tonight was an impossible night

Tonight was impossible.

Owl though,

Even if eventuality opened up like a heart thump

And the group grew up high like a high opportunity.

There's still work to do.

But it's fine in time.

We dine till eleven.

Soul meal under heaven.

And it opened,

It opened.

While we, aping and gaping and heaping and meanwhile,

We welcome the mariner,

That deep diving Herbie,

Extraneous expert we expelled it for you.

And he, he'd help well and even,

Then he'd heap a whole treasure mound,

So far devoid of his experience

He'd stare at a mirror hoping to find a person he recognized!

Like ten tyres teaming and tired of this magnificence,

He's stuck still, killing every tadpole that comes his way.

And what would happen then?

Could he breathe then?

Could he open up his bellows and laugh with aching sides,

Chin stretched out in mirthing agony

A birth of rapturous noise

Elephantine pronouncement like,

"Hello I'm here."

I mean, it can't really be helped.

Like, it's neither here nor there.

If you were to land upon an alien ship,

Swept together by the tide,

Would you know what to do with it?

Cause that was so beyond your experience,

What would you revert to?

And if I want to ask that,

What does that mean for the rest of humanity?

Like a sly sal silver slug

In sallow.

Sylvester Stallone in the 80's with a mustache like my 90's Dad.

It's hip, you know?

And as I sit here,

Stretched over the basin in my woolen jumper,

I read these words aloud like a well tonne warlock,

Hunting up high like a ghost for the door lock.

I put my tower up too but come on it's not really that strong.

It couldn't take the weight of a lion who wanted me


Let's be honest here.

And if I had a rifle,

It's gonna come at you so fast,

And all my palms so sweaty with anticipation,

That I'll damn near miss every shot,

But probably only get off one or two,

And then what?

I drop the bullet box like a bullock?

Rolls over the side as the lion presses up

And I roll and totter, grasping for a tree with nine leaves at a stretch.

What is this weird world?

What is this wine nightmare?

What am I doing in Africa hunting beasts?

What well tuned wisdom did lead me here,

Doomed and at mercy of nature,

Naked in my ignorant purpose.

And what did they do to the trains?

To the training of the spearheads and spades?

I've only instead got this gun that's no good

This gun so outside of me I've got no chance,

No pace to this alien deathgiver.

My roots let go and I blast in the right direction like a piston

Steering naught but the wheel,

And I've got lobster claws somewhat.



I'm better whisper to the master and filter out,

Slide along like a puddle almost dried,

And then I can whimper and rankle,

Hoping you don't really notice those high tones embellishing nothing

Now, really.

If we return we angle certain,

Open out the corner with 18 wheels and nowhere to make it.

Impossible with that peeping hand,

Reaching out to comprehend these grains of sand from a state of statues burnished down,

Down to paste

Down to pate

Down to take and frown

Down on patsy and even brown

And down on me.

Down like an even surface flat and 90 degrees

Never fuck with a 90 90 (two times)

A rabid 90 in her ninties

Untied and sprightly with two lines

Up high on her hind knee

With preachy and batty home spines but whiny.

So sound and sing slimy it might be,

Slip sidelong inside me

And nicely you pry

But likely,

I'd knock on the door but pray to you never to find me.

That simple eyed gibbon

That sign handed ribbon

Let's have it, I'll burn it

Then have at it again.

So within that is your self-hidden reverse,

Grim turns and grace will disperse this ant hiffisence,

And with stim churned the chin scatter

With this platter

Into thin chatter.

Too much coffee and a slight watered roast.

Mastering art like a kite in the sky.

Snaking with string as it's held by three hands and hope that we keep it up.

5 nights to play and then whatever happened

It leaped and grew and tangled.

Bless this show,

I wish it the best,

I love it,

I give it my cuddling love and my care and now it must run.

It's been held by my shins and it's struggling to sprint down the hall and fall wincing then pick itself up and shout.

Go you little show,

Many died to get you here

Do your stuff you new note.