Two cannibals eat a clown for breakfast
Holidays come down to Family and Falls
Childhood was lonely, but didn’t last
When you’re a child, Time has no roof, no walls.
Correct me to the grammar of Control
Some splits are gruesome in the simplest terms
My father is an academic mole:
Where’s the Source Map? He asks the oldest worms.
Good story to tell Ibrahim O’Neill:
I see dramatists everywhere in Town!
The grammar of the scene seems so unreal
Clowns of god, in costume, work for the Crown.
Cold, busted train-wheels sound like tuning forks;
And a Solitude of Source gums the works.
Phringo's Blog 