Greet the glutton Glasgow
Oven-unready porridgey faces
Sunglare dents and abraids

Stage whistles
Looming bunkment
His throat promise-crammed
His voice sound like guitars
Rascally changes of tone
The Quick, the Loud & the Drink

In a gloomy sublimity
Skankbent, shankspent, in tufty tight grey
Makes the plated air dimple with slash and zam
Gawking forward but trailing a satchmouth – woman squawk emerges
Organised scraper
Chest turfed out
Shunting his fardle, numb fumble at a Munchkin mewl-organ,
He’s in toys on the floor

Automatic silly, falling slowly
Acoustic steam in a volatility of ambience
This till is close
Would Mr Squirrel please join his friends