Slipath follies and gogeth kooks, his hole weld thus defined.
As his high topery shreaks, zensith becomering hard to find.
Throu toves of hungish quate are bungles of hungish made.
Throu his spillath and yomps, mi patyance is soonley slade.
This gargeth foollie, this bag of bloate, this jabber bunnie.
This touken volume, this mastiffe cock, this listless runnie.
Howarth you stive, your spillath causering oargles to bleed.
Howarth you stive, your spillath causering all to take heed.
The timbre is hair and samethink muste soon be doone.
The flair ripe for change and now gour mument has come.
The hoardes now clabeth, these throngs now take stock.
Slice your mongue, shoot your mooth, mastiffe Jabbercock.
By Andy Denham
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Image: Pablo Picasso Tête de Marie-Thérèse (1932-34) Oil on canvas
This poem is narrated by Lorraine Ansell, a British female voiceover professional.