Hoot pant society.

The khaki hoot pant society 

Postered with restrain the need 

To constantly feed the heavens 

With karma sutra sustained looks 

towards topnotch brass bedposts 

for guidance from Forbes the owl 

taping Over to dance with kedgeree 

Eros winged goddess with million

Thoughts of the hoarded 

the Liars Amongst hives

idly by a fleet of syrup tins

And dirty cards of maternal 

Feeding tubes waiting conversion

To allotted meridian day lights 

Saving time passing the greatest 

Barrier after famous mouse cracked

That can pouring whisky from its

Nasel serendipity rolling its own

Cotton bobbin through the hoops

Too anchored circus we watch 

the Anubis boundary man climb 

Into Dig where a dog can check

The lotter and statistics 

Of decay for tomb that left 

some stumped as why they tiled the

mourtary and why Holes 

until the beautician arms fished and

flowed into the grease trap 

For mythology love beads 

With nines bites and diagonal points 

of stripes on arrows rather than sky 

bound too the foot hill and forecourt 

Selling cheap sake fuel stumped 

And stamped limon bondage 

To wattle daubed the fire was 

drop goal landing mission control

To teach children of Martian cherry

Exploration ladybird moon 

With Consolidation the cost of 

Driving foreign vehicles on

The under par eighteen without

The Oh lord Crash magnetic broadcast

Roll on and off Wearing rose 

teal knit wear And Ballet pumps 

sand spills often

In upturned wine glasses ring 

In hand drawn diagram 

Be careful when wishing with 

Walls and ice cream tannoy 

Listening at the faux mistletoe

Makers not too distant in the 

Futures teeth fall under 

Pillows with greed and 

Windmills needing stretch 

velhem and grandad’s

Flowering bush smoke glass

Is temptlying looking

Dry iced and empty

With the Anderson needing

Painting magic tricks the corners

Got red lights north of 

Come barista there’s a ton 

Of urns yearning to salt 

Your gingers whilst 

You sit on your hands 

bemoaning boating 

On the lakes hostage 

To the convents love 

Of gamete alliteration 

Booked at four trading

And canning to nothing 

Six rods at the dockside 

Dog fish corn bait 

Tins of biblical Orange 

arising woollen sky’s

The tarot cup of printmakers

Cane bending for fathers 

spoons made from the 

Horse shoe of faltering 

Opinion hung around its 

Neck