Wednesday, 5 April 2017

Simon Turner - “April is the cruellest month”

Run!  I’ll eclipse the rat-moths.

Hello, Mr Shirt-rat Punt-slice.

Spruce tail-horn melts tiles.

Tell Seraphim: “Cut lone shirt!”

Marlin curls the Piste Hotel.

Lutheran climes; prole shite.

I’ll coil the art’s sperm tune.

Curt Trashpeel in Miso Hell.

Hot lunch trill: eels, meat, lips.

Eliot’s cat-purse ‘n’ mirth-shell.

Call her in here, Strepsil-mouth.

Nil-clit Herostratus helper. 

Calipers ruin the sloth-melt. 

1 comment:

oliver dixon said...

Hey I've just cracked the code here, thought there was some sort of Oulipan practice going on, slow on the uptake as ever. All lines anagrams of the Eliot phrase? It's ripe for spoofing, since it's somehow become so hackneyed a cliché it seems every other middlebrow journalist writing on any topic whatever during the month of April feels duty-bound to wheel it out as an opener.
Let's see how they get on with "Whan that Apprille with his shoores soote..."