These two...Philip 'n Cyril i call them
Are always here
Two boys' minds, one square metre
Bloody odd and quite frightening
An imbalance of fine threads
A spilt drink
Their planning threatens me
Or someone
So too do knee pockets
By my reckoning, they believe in comics
Or conspiracy theories
Or both
One stop is made
I pause in the T-position, listen carefully
Then resume bodily contact
At first, i misunderstood
Now, i misunderstand
No photography, but
This surgery is no looker
Popular leaflets offer the only sunlight
In a dry place
Then you arrive, in incredible style...
Do i encourage in you the pro-active?
Set in motion a long line of greetings?
Sandy for England
Sandy for England
The dropped glass
The post-chant
Sandy for the drop
Sandy for the chop
I need therapy
I need a garden state
I need television
I need educating
I need a baby doll that will scream in the early hours on medium wave and wake me from the council incentive, the nightmare