Old boys bosh shots of scotch on London’s frosty commons,
Cold clockwork popsongs of London: Town of Bop.
Lost poolroom jocks know how to rock to soppy mono toss!
No motor. No lolly. No job to mock.
From tons of pot down to Jon’s bong only
(Too strong for Tony, only Tony don’t know so…)
Grolsh pops. Promos drop. No show from cops: Pork Chops!
Tony shows Gordon how to body-pop: slow, Robocop foxtrot
to Bobby Brown, Snoop Dogg, “Whoooph!” by Clock.
Gordon’s cold brown cosh of old hotdog now looks too good.
Tony robs, scoffs down, fobs off Gordon, who shoots off to shops
to look for Polos, popcorn, cops on rooftops, lost onyx thongs of goths.
Two o’clock: storms howl. Tony growls bon mot bollocks
from London’s soft throng of woods; lost moth for God’s two moons.
Poor Tony looks down, drops Pollock on both boots.
On plots so holy, old dogs poo boldly.
Knock-down fools do loops of blocks, too cold for words.
Gordon pops bon bons. Tony spots… Bono. Both gobs go ‘O’.
Previously published in Ekleksographia.
Ross Sutherland was born in Edinburgh in 1979. He has three collections of poetry published with Penned In The Margins: Things To Do Before You Leave Town (2009), Twelve Nudes (2010), and Hyakuretsu Kyaku (2011). His documentary about computer-generated poetry, Every Rendition On A Broken Machine, can be watched online at every-rendition.tumblr.com
Object(s) to bring back to life: “Sleep. It’s the most sacred thing I own. These days it’s in diminishing supply.”