Malice In Heligoland

I'm a situation thinker
In a moon of mediocritism
I'm a beautiful lie,
who fly tips prose
On the roofs of clothes
And shoe disposal units
Hidden in cyberspace.
I paint my pinkers
In black fog and blinkers
Hoping trucks carrying
Gold for bucks roaring past
Have taken their snarl
And left my rabbits in
Stereo miles intact.
I'm a habitual drinker in malice
in Heligoland
Six hundred and thirty miles from Paris,
Or thereabouts.
I generate gushes like
fake plants generate
Genuine rushes,
I'm afraid of what happens
When the good stuff happens.
I'm a bunny hole spoiler
Dancing the wrong way
Round the whirpool in a recoiler.
I'm a twinkle-toed trip,
Spinning away from malice,
In Heligoland.