What crisis?

The wind’s droppedalong with my aspirationsthe clapometer needle’snot moving,( should I use the swingometer?) Those good old days are backopen fires and a sack of‘nutty slack’bow and scrapeskin your kneessaythankyou sirnot forgetting please, breadlineshard timesrationing andBuddy has no more dimes, we’ll all be singing for our supperup a gum treeor shit creektoday or next week,…

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Then it was Tuesday

Eyes down for the biblical bingo, acts on intuition and becomes beyond our recognition, hey presto, someone’s calling ‘house’ but it’s only Thomas and he’s a louse, a doubtfull sort of fellow…

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