The steroidal sturdy tonkas
tip tow dust
over the plastic toxicity of
soured yellow
and death ‘s mascot
is a sticky licky tongued
row of incisors;
raiding aorta of terrain.
A sharp turn
reveals a road wallowing in wattle
I trudge in words
mired in sun drenched
misery
like Yorke at a
seaside holiday,
Camp,
in Surrey.
Upwind from the feral deer
and their wild antlers
I curse ,
a revisionist conservationist,
until blessed
by spider strung pine
dancing its loose precision
in my gobsmacked eye.
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