Alibaba's Alibi from Lost Songs by Deep Rectal Temperature

Alibaba’s alibi
Snuff movie gore
Battlefresh and lupidine
Bensamoric floor
Taking pride in sliding wide
Hiding mites with angel's tithe
Croupier headstone golosh
Oh gosh
Posh nosh, tosh
Pish tish and tish tosh, bloss
Haha the harbinger house
The huffing ham-lover's hue and cry
Hellzapoppin' hooty
And the hinterland hootenanny havering like a hapsichord
Hoping for help from an hubristic helleborine
Enough
Of
That
Pish
Posh
Orchid arachnid opiad
Otherworldly ochre ohms from ormskirk saltbaths
Breathing in the fibreglass and asbestos of love
It's the power of love
It's the tower of gloves, love
It's the spooky tooth's loopy droogs
It's the spirit of california
You randy mantooth
Forsooth, bruce
You and me both crude blossoms
And the bridge, its size
Wearing a short boot
With a long sock
Like a spatchcocked poltroon
Like a Himalayan haiku
Diminishing effervescently
Silently
Gently
Over hot coals in Autumn
Fiendish and friendless
Craven and skirmish
With a dervish called nervous
Ichabod the stunted dastard
Sinkhole tripwire stunt hole
Vacate the energising quarry deep
Rocking theatre coward of pain
Return the nosegay to the oasthouse
And begone before the tumult arises
Begone before the campfire ash
Stirs on your loft space and causes
Welts of love and gore and leopardskin mittens
Freeze framed in a foxtrot pose
By a snickering stuttering paraffin lamp
A bitcoined smutcoin tarnished by tinseltown
Rough shanks glimmer like pinholes in the snow
Moist, sharp, edgy and limp
It cannot be done
It cannot be sung
It can only be drummed
Burundi style and quick
Native talking froth
Cocked and cockerel coking cooking
Winking, primping, preening and pulp
It's a pulp
It's a pup
It's da pope
Wearing a long sock
With a short boot
A long tooth with a houndstooth
A bounder's truth
Purfled and chamfered with a chamfering cloth
With a dancing cloth
With a spoon
With a nude spoon in the gloom room
A doomy plume to the piper's tune
To the jumper's croon
The dumper's broom
The crumpler's spitoon
The warthog's high noon
The padfoot's craven rune
Sinking beneath a mouldering sack of hemp
At easter by the light of the brilliantine moon
The Billericay dickie Swarfegas his coarsen lumpen hands after a day sorting crankshafts with his vile brickie's engine oil
Calmly placating stirrups
Lightly powdering kegs
Frightfully blundering through hogsheads of bobsleds top shelf golf treads
Looking behind for relief from the wind-up crime drop hot spot hip hop bag drop dewdrop crop
Riding sunsets pretending plume
Tabbard with tabernacle treacle tune
Like Wimsey on a whimsey with a whopping wind
A guileless clueless feckless worm
Insinuating otherworldliness through the sporadic use of hand gestures sublime
Taming shrews and turning blue
Tapping tapioca trellises through unctuous unguents
And careening careers advisers carriages covered in calamine and cobalt crumbs
Buccaneering braid weavers bilk Mr Pobjoy's blunderbuss
Where have all the bees gone?
Buzzing bees make honey, doctor
Feel good about deluxe ducks
And Kursaal flyers flying
Are we nearly there yet?
A vanilla slice in time

• Alternative
• New Delta Blues
• Strontium 90
• art school
• functional
• Melbourne