of all your lovely labour’s arty fruit

the one that gives me swoons

is that long cool oblongated



the croons

that’s tooting in your name

it’s an impish April cuckoo

it’s the music of oboes and bassoons


a brassiere

nostrils in the snoots of zoo baboons

love all at Wimbledon

twin sixpences, two copper picayunes


it’s lips apart surprised, delighted

a brace of bagels or rounded macaroons

boobs, a bicycle, children

hooting at cartoon buffoons


mouths cockled for a kiss

a wooing wood pigeon’s soothing tunes

a pair of life-belts, two boiled eggs

waiting for the swatting spoons


a couple of nils, of nothings, raindrops

pimpling pools at the start of the monsoon

Gandhi’s glasses, the common

and the secret faces of the moon


and after a thousand googols of afternoon

when all your famous art is looted

or crumbled into ruins

we still will cherish the hoopoe’s


inside your name

the loops, the hula happy hoops

puffed up like a joyfull twosome of balloons

dear mister Koons

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