who knows to where the ark will sail

who knows to where the ark will sail.

derailed junkies in tailored suits

carbon footprints leading to the looting of a postage stamp

hemorrhoid ham spreading its limbs across a mainstream protest sandwich;

one for sorrow- a frozen magpie drowns with a feline itch-

benign but with a cancerous intent of weaving a blue water stitch;

the rainbow with a mole brain planting its' roots into the crevis of a secret den

when will the covid brain enlighten the jesus loving barracks where soldiers kneel to die?

as a dry gin for the captains wig disembowels the flavours of uncontroled stock

where flocks the hibernating geese into the valley of deaths deserted sorrow

with a stiffled marrow clawing at my billboards cuckold paint;

the devil with a chainsaw

dancing in the arms with a farmers bull on the belly of a blue vein cheese

scratches my knees as I  hatchet his back.

stand to attention and I will grieve the loss of your second hand haversack;

backpack and silver pills

the spills of a cold war enhanced with a chance of superiority;

a forearm smash

cash in the arctic attic of endangered epilogue

feeds off the smog and the fuel of a jitterbug jive.

survival of the bitter butternut squash

relies only on the murder of a pancreas eye;

buttered scones with a biscuit with my penguin soup

were setting sail, to a place on a map from where no-one will ever return;