Read, we’d concede, Bede.
He’d supercede Mede Jamshid
deed intercede creed.
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Mr Potato Head is the pick of a Young Chef
Armed still, in her head,
sees the potato instead
with monkeys ahead.
Every Last I’m Mortal Strait
They’ll irradiate
cells to an inch of innate
external dark fate.
The African Wildcat meets a Hedgehog
Encounter by chance
in pension in southern France
with music and dance.
Throwing Up Hands [sic]
My isometric
exercises aren’t the trick
with a stomach sick.
Vasari Bari: Quatari, Kalahari or Zanzabari?
The man, askari,
sat eating calamari
using tamari.
He wasn’t sparry
or some quick Mata Hari
in hot Harare.
Or Rastafari.
He could scarce use safari.
I drank Campari.
The Danish
Warm crispy sweetish
that pastry people don’t wish
stereotypish
