mandarins

Sweat and widgets
Warts and giggles
It’s always sunny at a million feet
The sky is our ocean
The earth is our seat
But it’s minus 62 outside
That’ll bring the tears to our eyes
What ho Mr. Biggles
Chakka chakka chak chak
What’s in a digit?
Stop it.
You're kilting me
I always do the things I hate I always do the things I hate
Slumming it in paradise
Burnt out Kruschevs and dancing palms
Kinder egg wrappers
Flapping against hope
Like the ghosts of tropical fish
Recently escaped from a damp wallpaper mural
Which depicts all the symptoms
Of pandemic alcoholism in the people
Slaves to anything the president exposits

They accept malnutrition

Being fed on the flesh
of the dead alone

While cows graze on mandarins

Getting our hair cut in a photo booth

By the personal barber of several

Prime ministers

Something for the world’s end Sir?

You’ll never feel a thing...

You were like a cornfield

Swaying in the wind
You were like a dolly-bear
Watch her as she spins.


pic - nikon's swords in the grass at the dacha