the good old days 

when the cavalry arrived

just in time

 sun-long resin

of the once quick bees

forever amber

 fat fingers

that have never worked

just point

 the high wind laughs 

at the mountain’s comb-over

waterfalls guffaw 

 if i had as much hair 

as the cat is moulting

i would be a rock star

 magpie moths abound

the barmy privet flowers

as neighbours chat

 burlesque

the bees are teaching

the lavender to dance

 stubborn encroachment

as the frogs sing rising mist

hot windows open

 the fly in my eye

now a tricky black spot

on a licked hankie

 beach ball

the likely lads play

testosterone 

 exile

time’s anagram 

of home

 dying 

at the event horizon 

incoherence