Doff that catatonic trowl, young surgeon.
Tungsten-Turners and After-Burners
blow a heady steam of stop-contact stew.
Acrid and Blue. They festoon the shops’
shutters – acrobats and lovers.
Wimpy burgers.
Fresh crumpets consumed.

Pedantry for amenities lost,
Kalashnikovs for credit cards flossed
‘twixt the teeth and the bloodclots – the meat sans la sauce.
There’s batty old jesus! still dead on his cross.
Smacktastic fixations or herbal libations,
Kombai heads stirred with arttochoke stew.
Whirlygigs wheeze and slutty pre-teens sneeze
a phlegmy portrait in the likeness of you.