The Works of P G Heron

Every so often I get an email from a man calling himself P G Heron. This mysterious character sends me poetry which is clearly the product of a dilated anterior fundus, no doubt brought on by excessive consumption of eggnog. If you wish to read on do be aware that by doing so you risk your eyes turning into soil.

Friday, 27 April 2012

Wife O'Clock

Forlornicata
A strong gust
Of garbage tongue
Sweeps the cold sense
From extra-triangular nuffink...

No
I wasn't saying anything.

Pull that custard
Over the tips of my outstretched eyes

Don't let the good juices
Seep

Glong!
Sorry I
Must go!

But in leaving I
Trap my ileum
Ileum in the door
In the door and
And watch in
And
And
All the insides are out.
All out.

I'll probably just leave my skin here then?

OK, bye.
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2 comments:

  1. Lizzie Barbie1 May 2012 at 19:46

    Love this poem! I am a new follower from poetryblogs.org I am a poet also and love reading poems. I look forward to reading more poems and would be thrilled if you followed me and read some of my poetry. Have a great night.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Rev John Eel2 May 2012 at 11:57

    Thank you! My first comment. I will have a look at your work and start following you.

    ReplyDelete

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