upon this small envelope,
ankle deep in loam finery
beneath the quietly distracted smile
of a sky well versed in the art of
the brush off,
clockwork commuter bullets rattle
the air amidst a ruinous karma
of bloodied leek robber’s form and fur
llwynog’s surrogate retribution,
my foxy proxy,
brought down on this Tyddewi bore
here I crossed paths with mediæval toad,
as I travailed in a sea of worm and broken crocks,
I could tell he was because of the hat he wore
but he didn’t have much to say…
so rude
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