On Noon No ~ The ‘Well… what does it all mean?’ collaboration

Dammit, I’m mad!

And there are really many reasons to be mad about Tony…

…the first one is Crumble Cult.
…the second one is ONCE MORE, WITH FOREBODING.

The third… The fourth… The hell with it! I don’t need so many! There is only a single reason for me… It’s Tony Single!

Thank you, Tony…


Our end began with weaponised words,
bashing the chest like a thousand rolling-pins
on sourdough heart and bone.

Of course, you had a dim foreboding.
Crunch of parchment. Red saffron underfoot.
A marble chopping stone.

I plated myself up for disappointment.
A corrugated brow. Cold hearth and home.
You meant for me to die alone!

You always were flippant and presumptuous.
You estimated our life by eye
and borrowed a swollen loan.

Arugula words were all I tasted from you.
You were east of the sun then west of the moon.
I hardly knew where to point the bone.

Blah… The next pathetic maggot holds forth on stars…
You fought for that last stool on the cheap row
and lost a stage with the vacant throne!

Fine then. I know when I’m royally licked.
Someone gets me a psychotherapist.
Vagina dentata! My ardour has blown!

Lick-time is over. My Symplegades clash.
The dry pillar of Pompey engorges.
The end begins… and ends. Bring a blank die-stone!


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