Friday, 13 July 2012

An Ode to London's Flight Paths

The Globe, I'm not sure if you knew it,
is open, all up in the roof bit,

So for helis and planes
that circle, sans aim...

some fucking torpedoes would do it.


This limerick is dedicated to everyone who has ever tried to speak, or listen, over any ZSCSHOOOOOOOMING over Shakespeare's Globe on the South Bank. Heaven knows, that's a lot of people.

1 comment:

  1. I lay on my stomach, reached down and poked him. He rolled up. Then, feeling safe, I suppose, he slowly unrolled. He travelled a few inches in his hundred legs and I touched him again. He rolled up. Feeling sleepy, I decided to end things. My hand was going down on him when Jem spoke. Flights to Abidjan
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