(ApprecCJ8n, 0.21: The Ferretboy Show)
Marilynnightingale! And the thinkingman's
Ceenderella.
Hellebores on the quilt I wore with a Classic Woman,
a singable Mother!
Pricelessmummy treats Her kids like royalty:
HM of kinghornroad is Princessmummy
ta the catpaint poet, Ceejay's cute Varooka,
and Cee's sensitively shortfused
tweenaged son, Ouphe,
who's explosivif PS2much, boos and hoos
if he loses the 'last go' and then his Mum says get off.
But game over's never writ on Her earnest plasmascreens,
no contestibles, nowt vapidly virtual where
i spot Ceej's soul. Varooka 'n' Ouphe love their Mum - they're
only human! Like my world becomes,
when Ouphe 'n' Varooka's Mum is in the main it, world life becomes.
If Ceejay was a World, the big ID Clare's, i'ddeclare
lice's heart its faithful bum!
Crystalfirm Mum of Vaphe 'n' Ourooka, spelling Cee's
cauldronhipped magician - astonishinghow
Her whitewitch womb redeemed the semen of asocial
worker, one of those snitchy and preachy multiculti sticklers
for litany of tickboxes in the p.c.-quious
'processedtreecarcass', selfbackslapper of grandiose yoga
contorting and morphing int'a
rattilysniveling redtory pleadingpoverty
should drips at CSA impotently impetrate
for full salary disclosure
from this freetradeveganp.e.t.a.poser
who azza pater's a proper ebenezer.
But azza wozzayin, Clazza-Jazza hazza
frustrated elf of eleven years
- at the mo' 'e rates capoeira, disses 'yu-gi-oh';
and irresistably radiopages faux jingles t'all nonbronzed lovers,
with cricks in their necks due ta luvinin hammocks that're thongontheground.
Tho' not beds of spring-
ing, mornraddled nails, ironlady's ironmaidens, poor beds of a crypt oh
thatcherite scupperedfuture, punctualand mortcomfy
businesslike graves, tuckedup in timesheets' stitchup shroud, the sheet-
metalsmocked, triangularsleepingbagged
punters ta whom innocent Ouphe
doesn't even cognise he couldn't so fantastically flog,
fanx ta his mama's inhumanityshielding oomph,
v. néowe 'tropicalsun beds, soothing beds
and beds for youknowwhat',
whenay kayay m.c.ferretboy, scloosivlyon taperecorded fm!
Oh i can't fault awbless bedinage of the jinglet,
nor its casio chordination with samba beat one,
tho' i musn't dumbphone in a suggestion
ta the salesversin'
ferretboyshow, sponsored by some snorestore,
and wreckommend i'd send myself ta dorse
upon the 'cigarette-in-bed-
bed' i've invented. But even a kid's brilliant imaginary shops
- o'll triumphover americanheaven's
sanctimoney stores and outdothyneighbouring goldcrossshops
- stilhantgot, wuntstock
the Cee's bed. Shudhope
not, for underthesheets passed donandDonnajuanderful amplehandfuls
of snugglegrapples.
Where i'm all made within,
i couldn't pass a pass at Cee's... Her bed's notfor sleep
- for tousling and returning on!
Hers is a bedfa floughy flowers!
Ceejay's deffo nonpareil, She's Day's Eye
ta my yellow ox eyes, like summer She looks 'pon my daisypusherman-
acled, ommatophorous tenterhooks.
Leeside of the linen, we're tucked in tight
as a lone pairofnonclownpants tootight for a we,