On the dutch horizon
Carrots are on fire,
David Dickinson's permatan cracks
like a rustic earthenware pot.
The sky is wotsit powder,
Guantanamo Bay uniforms,
the boiled flesh of a sweet potato
and Roast Chicken flavour crisps.
Meanwhile, on the ground
(fired clay, the inside of a hot air balloon),
vibrant traffic cones seperate:
An orangutan dipped in hot peri-peri sauce,
Prince Harry bathing in Lucozade
and the Krankies flying on Easyjet.
To the sound of a fox hunting marmalade,
the smell of a hamster eating a Satsuma,
William of Nectarine rides a tiger into the darkness.
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