Dead Mouse has a Handbag

Today I smelled like dust
Or is it the aroma
Of dank mop
From a cupboard
Where the captured form of
Wonder is a mousetrap
Unsprung

[With no cheese
And I've heard rumours in
Dead mouse has a handbag 
Chip chip chip (chip) 
Chip chip chip (chip) 
Worry not
My troubled mind 
You're on! 
Can you see the fuhrer's tight prepuce
It's in the tree
Why aren't you counting? 
What's that? 
You're not ready? 
I've seen you reading porridge]

It's sick to say the least 
The tiny footprints of the guys
Who come this way to fight a
Stranger star
Who would have known 
The register of written voice
Is written low in bull command
A miracle indeed

Finally I open the door to the outside and enter

Kindly remove your heart before entering 

The curator watched, the fields were endless
Futures flicked time to the 
Burning life
Where greatness larded absence
With thinking dried
From incident headings 
Stoppering the watched 
That see scatter the questioning 
Blade of our lovely daughter
A lark over mountain daffodils 
Because
If I could wish for anything
It would be to tumble whole
From this page pocked
With incredulous borings