#14 Biggins or Bombs Away!

As Is What Was is a collection of poems created with no thought at all. None. There is no control over grammar, sound, rhythm, idea, or anything really. Why? I thought it would be fun. Is it insane? Absolutely.


Bombs away! The manor calls?

Was he slow or was he high?

How many halls did he roll? Next time tell him to leave a bit for me

Bic lighter to you – treasury to me

Underground have you rooted it all or muted your desires

And fallen for the squall

Now where can one find the erratic misdemeanours

Of the light bulbs

And the eager twisted steps of darkness

The feeders – breeders be

Guillotined like pigs

They call all the nerds spastic twigs

Yes those so-called retards those page-worms you saw

NWent further and burrowed aunder the world you adore

So thank them – thank you

While that lot was digging

You twiddled your thumbs and pretended you were the biggins

One little button oh one dear gentle press

And your influence dies – extinct in your own nest

Oh tapperty too the bugs are so blue

You wilded in ‘Frisco and now your lungs are through

Scorched like the plains that gave you your grain

Now you grin like a brainless frenetic stray

Oh stay away! The bombs will be coming

They’ll hit like the stars

And oh my they’ll be something

And if you are too weak or too moneyed you’ll find

When you emerge from your bunkers

You’ll be too dickless to grind 

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