so nostradamus corners me in the pub and says

Listen to me, my friend…

Cometh the hour, cometh the man / in bulletproof teeth and orange tan / advisers fanned / applause canned / as he stares & stands / one handmade Italian shoe on Maine, the other on Portland / his rinky-dink cock catastrophically in hand / cranking out poison across the land 

Cometh the man, cometh the hour / a name writ big on a tall glass tower / T for the Trust in the Truth he sours / R for the Riches he devours / U for the Underlings garlanding him with flowers / M for the Mouth, P for the power / to Trump his Tremendousness louder & louder

You couldn’t stand me the price of a drink, could ya…?

3 from Nostradamus’ Little Book of Prophecy

I.

And on the first afternoon / a smiling man shall walk out upon the craterous face of the moon / but the atmosphere generators will have been damaged by a spoon / and consequently he will lift the visor of his helmet too soon / and lo, his head shall increaseth in size like a party balloon / and shall pop / and he shall drop / and The Big Kahuna Lunar mini-break suddenly stop / and all manner of things shall be confus-ed / and all further space vacations review-ed

and great shall be the lamentation thereof

II.

And on the afternoon of the second day (according to my organiser) / a monstrously ravenous hybrid hydra / shall crawl from the sump of the hadron collider / casting instruments and scientists aside / and flinging the heavy security doors wide / shall flex its terrible claws and stride / way out across the glittering Swiss countryside / until a bunch of generals on satellite phones / launch Operation Pile o’Bones / with a flock of fearsome UN drones / to corral the hydra in a free-fire zone / smoke it’s ass and send it home

and great shall be the lamentation thereof

III.

And on the third evening during a calm atlantic crossing / a captain will stroll from the bridge for a little light dental flossing / when he shall see a sailor down on the for’ard deck, dossing / with a crossbow on his lap for some albatrossing / and tho’ the captain will clap his hands and shout / none of his warnings will reach the limey layabout / who will suddenly shoot his bolt into the snout / of the first albatross he sees flying about / and lo, shall the Captain wail / and the luxury cruise shall fail / and the first lieutenant bail / and the second mate be swallowed by a whale / and the waiters & entertainers turn tail / and passenger complaints go off the scale / and then day after day, day after day / they shall be stuck with nor breath nor motion / as idle as a painted ship – well, you get the picture

and great shall be the lamentations thereof  IMG_0441