Ode to the cellar, or holy brolly


I dwell alone in a skull of bone,
It’s dank and dark,
I call it home:
A basket, case,
I’m off this trolley,
Ancient rack and holy brolly.
I rattle round this.
I’m a stone,
A fossil grown in shoes of bone.
I’m dry and rattle moisty feet,
They jump and squizzle, seek relief.
I ossify.
They mossify.
This dull drum skull skin’s stretched too tight.
The waterpuss is out tonight
And lapping at my ears and feet,
You never know here what you’ll meet:
A cellar-dweller,
Bony fella,
Rattle-battle skele-teller.
A fat rat-rack,
So juicy sweet,
The rarest vintage you will meet.
A glassy mirror, sea of peas,
I glaze in awe on bended knees.
I can’t get up, I’m frozen solid,
Musty air drifts round me.
Horrid.

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