Magnum Classic
Hold hands in the burnt umber as Epping Forest Constables pass by clutching magnums in the sun shade. This is our forest birth right the horse dung decries. Two sugar lickers or hot chatting geniuses; while the stand-up comic places unnatural body movement in front of the camera. Close up on flammable parakeet green and red. Burst in like fly and destroy the ambience and it’s our world we’ll eat it up they fizz and crackle crashing against the window pain. You’re a grammar scammer don’t place your algorithms over this, pulled in a net to drag it back to hell. Follow the hard baked trail to the grotto’s mouth; the clock strikes three as we fart a collapse. Two jets collide falling upwards to the earth locked in a silent death spiral of mushroom clouds, messy tendrils and purple smoke.
