Licing Home, 4

L/ yesterdave, I can picture Glaswegian Dave
w/ his Robert Plant locks (sebaceous oils 
hairoically serving 
this roughsleeping Jock), embroiled 
in t/ usual skelartries of vagrants w/ SKOL arteries: 
sherry, heroin, needlesheroin 
shenanigans & shenanipettycrime. 
Tucking into some horse 
w/ no need f/ a pairofteeth, after a Specialbrew 
aperitif, then some post 'iccup pisticuffs 
w/ crabby cabbies down Tesco taxirank. 
They drove away, but he drank
& stayed & stayed & stayed. Dave 
also got my grunger brother from another mother,
Chris Shotaway's lil' sis in t/ familyway at 14. 
Kudos to underage Liz tho', being wooed 
by such a tatterdemalionmaned skaggismoocher,
Sideshow Boabbarneted smackonteur
- love is, after all, showbiz. Anyhoo, 1 time
Glaswegian Dave regaled me 
w/ a gouch down memorylane,
of riding pillion on a furshlugginer 
chromeboneshaker deathtrap,
revved by a fellow fuckhead porridgewog 
across t/ Forth Bridge at breakneck 
Braveheart brums, a Highlandwind 
afroing his Robert Plant mane
(preserved so remarkably,  I must re-remark,  
by sebaceous oils, despite a lifetime 
on t/ slabs & on t/ tiles), 
w/ a deathwrap of Deadly Nightshade, 
belladonna sellotaped under his armpit. 
Dave davulged that t/ trick
was to rip that bellotaped selladonna 
off t/ 2nd  you felt toxin titillate 
t/ psycho-attic sweet spot, or
'Ma hert widhae exploded, laddie, at 90 miles an oor!
Hootsmonseeyoujimmygroundskeeperwillieetc.'   

A typical Gen Xer deathwish teen at t/ time,
that oxtery devil's cherry deathcultmystery
& armpit raspberry to life, atropic trip
on a murderbike sounded l/ a ride home to me.