Harvest all that isn’t pickled, tarred and marred
From living
Have me
Over a bench
One last time
Limp and pale
I want to go
Over Pennard cliffs
A hurtling, plummeting rot
Ejected from a wheelbarrow
Just before we run out of grass
If you love me enough
To fly-tip deadweight
Get to work on those upper arms
I’ll buy the van
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