PIGGIES
PIGGIES
I saw a choiring flock of animals over Hampstead...
that doesnt quite work, does it?
I am a choiring piggy angel flowing freely
Inbetween the quantum chinks in matter/anti-matter.
I choose to hover over the recalcitrant Irish dittyauthor Murphy
Espied upon the Heath wreathing 'Rebecca'.
Upon the moment Heath and all upturned were
Became a boat stranded in a storm
A veritable Ark of piggies out at sea
Dressed as for a dog's dinner.
Pirates we, our leader Paypal Murphy
With his great red beard, his pair o'pistols
His neat parakeet, his velvety bootettes.
A laptop storm upturned the boat, we
Turned back to Truro: many miles short o'
The Indies: slavey Murphy rose up one day
Navigated the currents 'nd shoals o' fish:
Espied an Insel green mistaken Ireland,
Voted Merkl, the storm died. A great
TV mast stuck in the lee of th' island
Transplanted there. 'Wahl' I said, frothing
Forth, but meaning 'Wann'. The crispy
Barbecued forearm of a Cyclops sailed
Past me nose. Baked in advance, with clotted cream
'n suet. Those clever bastards, thought I
Knew what would happen, (my mighty forearmy
Trained for 7 days and nights in Dave's Gym
Round the 'Hack, further lessons in barberous
Archery hatched in 'Ards, a template of a place
Ensconced backwards of the Sligo Towery,)
(Another place we hadn't been). Thence to Circe
An arrogant little bitch who lived in Dundrum
The Ardglass, awful places 'cept for the good lobsters.
She'd slept with DeLorean then fizzled out
In our dreams by day, a shining factory in the west
Producing cars with wings, or great thundering
Silver space-age mobiles, to hunger for the m'way
To hunger for speed, and lots of dollars.
Fools, just monkeys, relieved of our beermonies.
Deservedly so, I spun the platinum disc
So that Circe could boogie woogie.
'I can't abide your friend Terry, he pesters me.'
I said, 'he's merely a Theban prophet, suffers
From glaucoma.' 'Probably failed to see you.
That's all. Not everyone's a pervert!'
'They are.' said Circe, her ringletted hair
Trapsed on the dancefloor.
I saw a choiring flock of animals over Hampstead...
that doesnt quite work, does it?
I am a choiring piggy angel flowing freely
Inbetween the quantum chinks in matter/anti-matter.
I choose to hover over the recalcitrant Irish dittyauthor Murphy
Espied upon the Heath wreathing 'Rebecca'.
Upon the moment Heath and all upturned were
Became a boat stranded in a storm
A veritable Ark of piggies out at sea
Dressed as for a dog's dinner.
Pirates we, our leader Paypal Murphy
With his great red beard, his pair o'pistols
His neat parakeet, his velvety bootettes.
A laptop storm upturned the boat, we
Turned back to Truro: many miles short o'
The Indies: slavey Murphy rose up one day
Navigated the currents 'nd shoals o' fish:
Espied an Insel green mistaken Ireland,
Voted Merkl, the storm died. A great
TV mast stuck in the lee of th' island
Transplanted there. 'Wahl' I said, frothing
Forth, but meaning 'Wann'. The crispy
Barbecued forearm of a Cyclops sailed
Past me nose. Baked in advance, with clotted cream
'n suet. Those clever bastards, thought I
Knew what would happen, (my mighty forearmy
Trained for 7 days and nights in Dave's Gym
Round the 'Hack, further lessons in barberous
Archery hatched in 'Ards, a template of a place
Ensconced backwards of the Sligo Towery,)
(Another place we hadn't been). Thence to Circe
An arrogant little bitch who lived in Dundrum
The Ardglass, awful places 'cept for the good lobsters.
She'd slept with DeLorean then fizzled out
In our dreams by day, a shining factory in the west
Producing cars with wings, or great thundering
Silver space-age mobiles, to hunger for the m'way
To hunger for speed, and lots of dollars.
Fools, just monkeys, relieved of our beermonies.
Deservedly so, I spun the platinum disc
So that Circe could boogie woogie.
'I can't abide your friend Terry, he pesters me.'
I said, 'he's merely a Theban prophet, suffers
From glaucoma.' 'Probably failed to see you.
That's all. Not everyone's a pervert!'
'They are.' said Circe, her ringletted hair
Trapsed on the dancefloor.
