1
The road is tramp toothpaste, endless
tea-brick for the liquorice addict,
tarmac toffee for young wierdo gourmets.

The road is boiled from fly stomachs and
tobacco lung-juice: its sundew appetite
is steaming in the after-rain heat.

2
The road is tongue and belly, gut
and anus all at once: the gust, the taste
of all detritus is delicious unto it,

digesting pheasant and plastic bib,
persian cat and thermos flask, it
excretes them as amalgam, its own dear droppings.

3
The road creates its constant raw exchange
through simile: tyres innards sprawl
like blackened pythons while

dead rooks lie like broken umbrellas and
a twist of straw caught in bare branches
is like a standard's golden bird.