Mould green fairly liquid 
count to a hundred 
I hear the sound 
dididum dididum 
of distant bums 

over there 
…………Over there 

in the long dark 
playground of the 
soul the hands 
that judicious 
glow soft as your 

face down porridge 
lanes of Windscale 
fruit and nut case 
up up and 

away scrub 

in my beautiful 
my bootiful 
baboon that 
tastes like 

chocolate never 
tasted you hum it 
sun I’ll play it do 
the shake ‘n’ peel it 
with their mettle 

coming ready or 
not down brown 
loaf cobbles here’s 
the Hussars 1819 & 
tig you’re 




Steve Waling 

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