Thursday, 18 September 2008


Full of dragging ideas, like clouds
Yoda weeps in the tin locker room
Like you, he can’t make any moves

Snow White is in the car park
Peering through a greasy window
Watching crack heads eating Weiner Schnitzels

Dreadful pop bands are taking over the world
Dracula has grown a moustache
Torsos of the departed quietly float through rooms

There’s nothing better than a bee on a pink flower

This morning a bottle of bright yellow shampoo
Actually told me to ‘Get with the programme’

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