“Seemi dandergruff and spooot,
in plastered, petit fumes and crinkly foil,”
so said the Pasty Wickerwop
who splashed green mustard on his boil
that blistered blue and risky rare
as swingols stubbed and wouldn’t stop,
and that so bipped him round the rose
that wings warped woop on fluting air
and piddled in and snooted out
then spun in circles round his nose
until he froze within a shout
and knocked their flingerblipins out.
Well… for children? For fun. For freedom.