I never stop at Hunt’s Cross no matter what the train everytime it flashes by and we always never twain I don’t know what’s at Hunt’s Cross perhaps there’s not a lot but I’d like to stop at Hunt’s Cross to see what Hunt’s Cross has got. Next time I’ll take a taxi no matter what the fare and hope the cabbie doesn’t say “Hunt’s Cross? …. ….why d’ya wanna go there?”
There is a little spider in my double yoo see and each morn he grows quite exponentially he smiled at me this evening as I took a pee then licked his tiny spider lips rather hungrily that can be disconcerting when one is in the loo alone I hope he doesn’t eat me as I’m sat upon the throne.
There’s a really ugly fish in the middle of my pond his underbite’s atrocious and his fins are far too long he sits among the weeds all day acting rather coy and carps on his misfortune and sucks all of the joy out of all the other fish which spend their time in there having to put up with him, it really isn’t fair I think I’ll catch a pelican and set him out to sneak around my little garden pond sporting his pointy beak with luck he’ll feel quite peckish and break the water’s still and gulp that ugly fish right up in his saggy bill.
Oh magic mirror on the wall are you that magic after all? I ask you questions every day you never have a thing to say.
I lost time attempting to recreate the clockwise Coriolis effect in my plughole I’m sure I witnessed during my shower this morning and settled on the thoughts of tailors in Australia and inside legs and has the world tripped over?
If I had a bag of sherbet dip big enough to sleep in I’d want you as my lollipop if you were up for lickin’ You could be my dib-dab sweet as sweet could be all sugared up from tip to toe a candy treat for me.
give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day but give a fish a man and you’ll likely hear him say “what’s this pointless thing you’ve given me?” (in his little fishy voice) “as I’d rather have a wiggly worm given half the choice.” yes to give a fish a man my friends is really quite absurd but there are no more wiggly worms thanks to all the early birds.
Lord Gladstone had a biscuit tin which he would keep his memories in sometimes he’d store them with his dreams until they smelled of custard creams then the lid he’d open up and dip thoughts in his coffee cup to roll them round upon his tongue and remember times when he was young.