Poems by Marc Phayel

Bosom Vim

a poem by

Marc Phayel

A chortling vim monitor talks to Ian
You know Ian, the one with the hole
In his mustard mother, the doting only child
Of Mario the visigoth and Santa

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Compacted Beer Stools

a poem by

Marc Phayel

I grease the moribund owl
And its tadger eyes winkywank
at me in the moonlight of cheese
and the dark spurting dusk of my golfing lust

I am a gabardine gimp, a vivid
Genital stoat who hungers
And pleasures itself against
Small Oirish monitor lizards called Peter

“You are the half-cut Visigoth Mrs Mother”
Yelled the scotch egg doctor
As he rooted through the stools of gauche mice
In the expectation of a good lunch

The urine of a marmoset shall pass
Through the eye of your needle Uncle Miriam
And desist from your tintinabulations Timothy
And bumbaste the lamb of god in Auntie’s oven.

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