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

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.