Prufrock is ironing his trousers,
while a carrier is steaming off into the distance,
with a cargo of dead horses laying on its deck.
Lollocks are coming out of corners and attacking broom holding servant girls with honey still dripping from their fingers.
The green fuse is beeing drawn slowly out of Spring while in the corner of this field a soldier has stopped rotting,
and the spuds have stopped growing through his torso.
There is a strange meeting of war poets near an Egyptian pond where exotic fish are basking then turning in the widening gyre,
but tread softly as you may fall like an arrow shower somewhere becoming rain.
The hot stink of fox is overpowering the miles of pram in the wind,
and daddy has lifted his foot off my neck.
Lately, I've been wondering,
what you and I did, till we loved?
I know I've been sucking on country pleasures while you have been doing impressions of Elvis in a nunnery.
Meanwhile,
Stop the clocks,
I want to get off!
