I’m Keir Carter / sponsored by royal museum charter / cramming down breakfast keen to get started / the workers superstitious & half-hearted / as he shakily breaks the seal on the tomb / and casts his torch about the gloom / wow! a Lyttle decorated room / chintzy as a dusty Blackpool ballroom / and lying in the centre / the focus of Keir’s desert adventure / the mummy of the Pharaoh Johnson / bougie as a straw topped Tutankhamen / and then some / lovingly bandaged in golden / wallpaper / stuffed with shredded red-top newspaper / snug in a matryoshka-style sarcophagus / ceremonial tweets backed-up in his oesophagus / which read like some kind of demented curse / but Keir’s read worse / he’s media savvy and well-rehearsed / he knows the hashtag to get the magic reversed

I’m a horror flick: The Spuds Have Eyes! / special effects derisory / parental advisory / explicit scenes with a vegetable peeler / realistic gardening procedures / DVD with special features / a blooper reel / with a surreal / clash / where Jason Statham goes to mash / the evil spud king / and the mash gets splashed across everything / the camera lens, the ceiling / Jason’s shoulders heaving / still not believing / he told his agent he’d do this shit / but still it’s a hit / sells quite a bit / so all things being equal / he thinks he’ll probably sign for the sequel

I’m a lonely little petunia in an onion patch / considering my options, looking for scratch / swiping right on a primrose, natch / it’s a match / ten years later the bulbs are in bloom / and we’re finalising visiting rights on zoom

I’m a swingers’ party for internet trolls / fol-de-rol / memory sticks and keys in the bowl / man! / it’s my jam! / a junk free jamboree / I’m positively skipping through security / totally in my element! / everything VR and decadent / the cheetos and doritos universally excellent / mouthwash and baby wipes prevalent / once in a while it’s nice to be human / but when the reviews come out I’m fumin’ / they don’t like pleather onesies, I’m assumin’

I’m Captain Kirk / busting out my pants and shirt / ancient but just about credibly alert / phasers on stun, phones on divert / ready to boldly go and be cool / on a flaming dump of aviation fuel / singing the song he learned back at Star School / hey diddle diddle / Jeff B’s on the fiddle / his cock whazzed over the moon / the little dog laughed to see such fun / and the dish needed a year or two out to work on themselves

I’m a caesar salad, stabbed in the croutons by a breadstick / how prophetic / it’s so pathetic / you don’t know what to say / you awkwardly ad lib et tu souffle

(studio laughter)

okay that’s it – I’m written out, shot / poetry’s just typing and finding what you’ve got / sometimes it works and sometimes not / but hey – at least I upload a lot / the twisted poet that Twitter forgot / so, please do not adjust your glasses / everything changes, everything passes / city empires to weeds and grasses / the arctic melts and the ocean advances / meanwhile I’m done with all of that / not a literary lion but a wordle gnat / trapped in a glob of tree resin / fossilising over the next millennium / into a piece of lambent amber / gazing out of my yellow glazed chamber / trying to remember / whether my birthday was June or December / as a security guard yawns in the Geology centre