look out! night just fell
you near on overlooked it
lost in an e-book–lucky
i showed up
the air was sharp
that keen time of year ducky
like it was when we met before
in this deserted trossach where
thought and feeling dance
their cockeyed sabbath
look out! night just fell
you near on overlooked it
lost in an e-book–lucky
i showed up
the air was sharp
that keen time of year ducky
like it was when we met before
in this deserted trossach where
thought and feeling dance
their cockeyed sabbath
upon the streaming air
exhaled by Ogma Sun face
plain as a brass pike staff in yer face
see the boss aint got no dainty threads on
bare arsed as a new born twerp shouting orders
to court assasins in boreal greek and latticed latin
burbling on in unknown tongues lip dancing codeine potions
compelling inebriate states to poach small town chickenshacks
high rise meadows
Mauve tuesday is a rum day,
a bin day, a drab day
a humdrum day
laden down cumbersome
by protocol and melancholia
thus it must
commence with an immodest nosebleed
or a writhing mit of pitted prunes
it simply is not worth its salt
wanderers returned from the huzun night
find it irresistible
Musk demilight– aqua, orchid, tourquoise,
bent over hoodwinked by a flighty moon
reach out to open optimistic windows
admit dunnock chirps & sample crisp ballooning air;
early worms watch dullard ghosts bow out
to head for air conditioned hulks;
silverfish hold out for frigid Juul tides,
white riders & twilit oceansides beg
time out for prearranged red handshakes
in vacant dayglo barns;
many is the slip twixt cup and lip
impatient to get on with it.
It! That meretricious pip.
May had its seventeenth today,
shrunk glorious summer down
to cheap sausage pork,
and in its putrid air a natal
rain exposed a summer still born,
A maid unaware craved its drains to roam,
its culverts to clog―
Saw red rain fell over the temple,
Developed an inability to spit,
And bore witness to a teal sky
Crowded out with bluebirds.
Omens abound like cliches come sweet dusk.
A shootist lazily rakes the gallery
A spotty little herbert called Anomie
Made to menace Venice
Jeopardised the tennis
Liberté, égalité, Débilité –
Close to tears on rising:
an invisible hornet bugs you
you open a velvet blind
What is it that chastises?
Is it a far off chainsaw?
Wash the scuff away
Regret another curfew day
Showered down thorough.
Spent time writing proper.
Fucked it up. Corrected. It worked!
All of this comes to you thanks to a power shower
I stood on one leg blindfold intoning
‘I don’t wanna know her’,
a little keyhole waltz if you will
recounting old times in the Ozarks
Cussing our imaginary friend Zillard.
The lies flow outrageously as spring flood water…
a hot scrub is the prelude to a crisp neo-write supremacy:
A thousand tweets a day and soon you’re washed away.
Like a one legged Willy Lomax, a legend in his own body waste,
wisecracking as he vaporises in a steamy void
Begin over with the goat stew she left out on the table
The cord flex dangling idly in the cavernous hall
The fabulous smell of oily tuna permeates the bamboo wall
Losing a grip of the catchy word makes you chippy
flitting like a teasing fly
The mocking phrase that slights the cliche
Line by line the words drip dry.
Sure now this is nowhere you’re free.
Dewar saw the fear, read the cower, laughed.
His capricious myrmidons looked the other way.
The bush was sharp, dew damp and dirt dusty.
He jumped before he was felled.
The wounds were evidently self-inflicted.
He makes a habit of this.
Control was all.
‘He’s mad alright’ said Dewar
‘Told you‘ said Trimble.
They melt back in the playtime throng.
Parr helped him out of the bush.
The legs are scratched deep and bleeding.
Why? Contrition is the wetter part of valour.
The big yellow streak dilates.
Might is always right in the name of Peace.
Spring comes slowly up
pissing about to the echo of a toothless mastiff chewing
onea rock with a fiddle, singing of the abducted.
plonked awkward on a mute piebald palfrey
scarred free blogs save our doleful
planet from gutter
peagreen penknife trysts
slashed on old tree blogs
Eternally yours forelorn
Tina’s coming very soon
…so just dig it dorothy
swallow the yellow brick road
& forever remember
neutron stars sleep all day
recharging batteries then
scintillate all night
Endured cross stitch ups and venal stings,
incursive pine needles and lupins,
divisive thimbles and tumbrils,
concluded justice must be obscene to be undone
that finger food sucks at Funky Fiona’s,
regretted the futile fracas in Franco’s Head Shop,
and, at the heel of the hunt,
repeeled a grape for Delilah–
Yes the bummer’s done.
Now sat here the huge jukebox
affecting a timid demeanour
behind purple drapes
we, with blunted needles and bent pins,
darn socks for Sontag.
Shut the craven door, put on the long sleeves…here it comes
Rouged erotic fall apples hang heavy in the sweaty orchard
Too often and falsely I have been told I am loyal, true and faithful,
Honest to a fault, capacious in my tolerance
Why let waste-wolves take their pick, leaving us wild boar
Cherish stray abandoned cryptic sirens
While rapine tyrants mocking strut their bawdy stuff, and raze ivory bone chapels
to cinders as innocence stands by looking on?
Untongue this serpentine insatiable ambition, stuff red hot pokers in it till it puffs
up like a hamster at the cud
Let that be an end to it for good, then retire us we shall to the bragging hall to winter in stories tall as giant pines and spruces
...you are not writing thus you are not a writer i am not writing thus i am not a writer -better quickly jot that down quick over there that paper scrap with spuds eggs, toilet rolls, dog food,crisps some forgotten shopping list or postmodern masterpiece what a bloody mess better get out the Hoover later there's nothing on the other side where's the pen? there, a pen, blue dried up biro, it might just work today. Increasingly violent circles- watch it, you'll rip it: A pencil! there behind the box of menthol vapes behind the burning candle careful, slowly does it that's how accidents occur i really must go to the loo. the dog wants to go out i can let him out and go downstairs, listen to the early morning news Shit! the clocks went back it's bloody Alan Bennett fetching in the milk i am not a writer…
View original post 13 more words
So, that was Black Friday: the first day of winter intimations, cool rain and mud. For the first time in months he breathed from his pelvis, his kidneys were in good cheer, and his bowels mirthful with the prospect of heavy stews and baked potatoes. ‘Spudfinger…ba-baa-ba; he’s the man, the man with the tuba touch’ […]Mr Potato Head — The Avocado
sun after rain
steam shrouds leaf
stone wood dries
rot haze fades
fingers pause linger
tears fall smiling
Entropy ain’t what it was
In the chokey oakum days
The greazy gabardine mack days
The sad brown paper bag days
The dainty doris day days
we were young at heart then
pistol whipping work horses
who toiled in broke up city streets
Hawking stucco frontispieces & smiley culture vulture daubs
You deny that people called Duck did once exist?
An oxygen experience is tough enough to get over.
Personally, I gained fuck all that I want in life no worries.
I am perfectly content in mind and bodybag
Indeed all the tension drops from my body
lukewarm and utterly butterly,
It’s as if I were sitting beside a friendly fire,
Well wrapped up in a crinkly blanket,
rocking gently back and forth.
Communication is unpleasant and unnecessary
Under the influence of oxygen,
You soon see no companionship at all is best
I accept myself and the world just as we are, separate
Wet coal tipples blanket bluffs,
Rusted out coal tipples
blanket breezy bluffs
Twisted track curls up
gnarly knotted toes
Industry was here
Once below a time
Declared unfit by Kilroy & Cadwallader
O for a life less examined, with nothing to be compared and measured by;
then with that overcome, will you bend my shirts for old times sake?
Set your Grimoires aside for rainless, aimless sorrow days;
gambol free in pigeon slippers through Dijon mustard fields;
assume the lifestle of a burgher of Elysia,
We today shall call oursleves Ashfodel & Bergamon,
and make merry in naff herbaceous borders.
First shower carefully perched upon a lofty sill
and do not spill the soap
a pepper speck in the universal wet room lino.
A ferocious fungus grows on my hipbones,
an unsightly ganglia, purpley and pacoderm.
Attribute it to the dim light cast in the black jade mirror.
Those dark atlantic raves play merry hell with the orbs.
A new moon, I hear: what of the old one?
Confer with the owl when twilight holds sway.
‘O’er them dunes,
Says Mrs Hands.
‘…just go left at the war mines,
right at the shipwreck,
Bob’s yer Uncle
It’s just there
Put on, or should it be, donned
John’s bonce on the hob.
Brain versus brawn
is a no-brainer.
after a lean while
Herod buys bonking time,
hides it in his Wish Urn
The sheer, brazen
Sauce of the fellow!
was a right one
On Golden Beach.
Dredgers look on.
In easy, idle, calm.
Ebb to Flow
Drowning in Project Ocean waters
we bulk buy curses concealed inside
twenty slices of US cheese
bound in kangaroo skin
and peruse mein kampf bound in purest skunk
and human anatomies encased in human hides
the brush clunks in the tar bucket
motley multicoloured rabbles contrive
in dripping ginnels
and confuse spalpeens with calumnies
and catastophies with freedom days
Penicillin Road drops steep
cuts and bores
through sheer bare escarpments & stark granite defiles,
surges frothing fizzes over roadside boulders
churns up windblown chaff and docile dross
Befor it slows meanders and morphs
into torpid oxbow kidneys and verdant flood plain gallops
Some nights while still sounding thunderous
it prances fast through otiose viscous varicose arteries and drives insane men’s veins
through canny chicanes
scorning litigious bunions & seedy rundown canyons of doubt
eagerly cresting on horizon tendons it defies proud ligaments,
mocks cists & melts stubborn pockmarks and rueful cataracts
and spills into the ulcerated sea off Old Toe Head
where swathed in crinkly lint chinked amber pulses
itoscillates lit up by strobing lunar beats
Shoe sized egomaniacal
west ham actors &
two bit part harp players
& sundry stray intrusive
sporty parties snarl & bicker
disgorging muckbill platitudes
to puggled flustered
rashly squeezed bone
girdled gossip mongers
hawking meagre humble wares
The morning after the dud who faked sincerity
got shunned by rank indifferents of all races, creeds and colour theorists…
lightspilt first up back of four
just as Saul found out
why the lucid coast
of duvet moans in jest
= Effluenza or Influenza?
Who cares much these days
Pass over the capsule and be an Angela, my sweet.
Broken News from Dawn Patrol announces…
Windows of opportunity get three thumbs up should Halloween pass without unsavoury eruptions
Second waves pronounced the new first moon by turd party arsonists
sampling tea leaves humping hope to an amen beat the
last chance balloon leaves come dawn on this vernal equinox
Ethics in AI gets bunk up from fretful plutocrats with more money than funny.
Glass and concrete truth domes full of ratfinks tremble
Peasant slaughtered by boy racer
stooges a monarch in a Star & Garter Gig.
The town of Richmond mourns behind closed minds
Ten finger professionals occupy space
set aside for cheetahs lost in transit.
Stare out these days through shopfronts
displayed on handheld flymo gizmos.
All shapes and sizes filed under laudable applaudables.
Feasible exercisers say strain not yet no sinew.
Spineless fatigue pandemic supine sighs.
Vagrant anchovy is upset that the mule abjures.
Profligate cartwheels & takes rap for cold cold snap.
Sidelined on the margin: peripheral & subliminal.
If this is true~ if so what follows…Huh?
Well shod gunshot rider racer
royally glides roughshod over
an enfeebled citizenry in broad daylight
impression of crass snobbery
Third June Thursdays don’t get much longer in the short run
Search engines rise with suns to take you down you guessed it:
Secrete a bloom bury it deep in forget me knots…twas Midsommer Day she sent ashtray…
too near to something hot. Hot like mercury…
Slipshod ellipses. Pulling and Squeezing.
Falling yet not falling yet.
Turning yet not spinning
Ear fluids sloshing sloshily.
Smell of sweet pine.
Drizzling wild honey.
Lingers on licky fingers
Last days on earth. Pungent like liquorice…
Dad’s Army and psycho dramaturgy,
Cadmus family values rule KO
down at Thebes by the Sea.
Cast off thousands
Bear their teeth.
Laughter releases no fun juggler:
Watertight alibis spring no leeks
& sink like stones
but butter no parsnips
Muddle muddles through mind
Cassini pulls it off like Daisy
Days start up sluggish smooth
listen out hard to silence golden
struggling to swallow Penicillin
before the capsule melts in bitter toxin
Go eat something quick before singe
Heavy ordnance stems the onslaught
The moon grows big over Medina
Quiet whistlers kicking sticks down windy lanes
Dawn rain sprinkles dust
Brambles break out of a livid hedgerow
Something small in there is Movement
roused by scent of Danger
keens it the hungry eye?
Probably a rat according to What The papers say.
Who the hell is Wallace Bronson?
His name’s all over town these days. I hear them big him up. I hear them put him down. Perhaps a craze that came and went. Grabbed an hour dreamt of warm embraces
By the jolly neck old chap.
An entire dramatic action complete unto itself plays out.
Heard Wallace later utter
scutter thick as butter
as nearby thickly knitted people talk creative ambiguities purr
Bigging up ticklish solutions tripping out on funny money
camped out overnight on sodden cloud cuckoo landscapes
Party party party time–
scuffed up leather horsehair stuffing entrails;
bouncing up and down
Being naughty Backseat Sunday of a Morris Oxford under blurred high hedges
low trees rain drips water splash ‘Watch Out for that Unicorn!’
Blue serge suited chubby mammy’s boy down potholed back roads boasts to blackberry ramblers
in see through macks ‘Gulp cool smell of cowshit honeysuckle’
Crows claw fat green leaves
water blobs erupt dog roses
Polished brogues flashing matching socks
handkerchief sporting little gentilhomme
scrams knee go fetch Dettol and dabbing cloth
Bathe it pink till stop sobbing dry pats
Blow softens ouch its stingy cotton settle down beige flesh stickplaster
Finished as if applause follows that little performance
threw a fugue fandango now cards strewn pell mell on parquet floor rug
ruined when fur flew past Spree of exasp…desper…constern…
Bleargh splat yucca hahahaha…wash hands swift job done wait in purdah taube.
What awaits two guilty buddhas Sat glum cross legged on the whipping mat? Caught fighting over emberscraps. Saucysnaps, Easy policeman ticking off did not goog the nups marked earclip. No slipper beatings ever did so. Petit crims entertain mad whims.
Parrot learners think on it or else.
Fastest omelette west of the Quantocks, some claim Sideshow Slobbo warm ups for the main event primarily to Cause a stir. Take the floor. Do a turn. Fry. Self immolation. Make a memorable memory . Eventful everlasting daydream. Ends in tears. Where’s he gone this time? Pff. Declined the invite . To act like I am a goat. Not the scene. Made excuses curt and left via dockland drain. Let off a steamer at St Malo. Burn it up. Ends in tears. Where else? A Scrambled Shambles? Seen later Down and dirty in the Dog and Duck making quavers last all night oak log fireglow damp socks steaming Catch an eye nod snarl grimace smile of visog recog. Same or similar plight. Stages of alight Depth charge and fat warhead cure.
Brace yourself for Skegness by the Sea. Cornish riviera dip. Dipping crooked toesies. Roll ups. Just like Xenophon. Full of importance when no one is Taking notes. Ten a penny eyebrows. Pencil in moustachio. Pocket Dirty Postcard sly crowd Sneaking peeps as Gertie sorts her girdles. Giant rubber diva gives out full blast. Empurpled by whelk frenzy. Getting sweet on. Hats flew up. Wind blows up the corridor & Up comes Pavarotti. Oily smooth snake charmer. Bedknob manner writ all over. Sleep the last thing on his.
‘Don’t the wind blow up the passage, Mrs Bulbous!’…’Away now with yer sauce’… Fun & games. Sigh like Clifton Webb on hemp. Fresh Fish soon goes off. Black Eye.
Cuckoo Waltz to Fin.
Roho man barges in unmolested by Torwart who given to flinches…
Who wants a Brownie pointf. Pofte ‘Crved Hairdo’ Draft One (A Manifefti). Commentatorf acknowledge
A refemblement to Fji’f Wok in paffing merrily on their way. Pfffed Off Altogether. Weftward Huff!*
But what? Say what? What of? Furtive fifteen minnows flounder
frekled flambuoyant flanneur reflects on ephemera in a Sin Shop window. Fiddlesticks & Fu Manchu .
Hickey’s Hockey Sticks. Fallopian Tuba ompahs Aatomata rattle gaudy boxes
Comenotye hither smiles the little drumstick.
Dirty thoughts charade. Penny for. Pinafore. Petticoat.
Philanderers and Swann- Hunter.
Burgess & McClean breast pocket.
Gilbert O’Sillivan. Ethelred’s Outsize Outfitters shrinks.
King Kong of Marvin Hagler Gardens. Hennesey Hiccups.
Hearn’s Hooha handwash. Nefertiti bugles most brunchtimes.
Maple Syrup syllables go viral. Slighly slurry Senora spouts.
Teeth must have ulterior motives. Chattering classes ticking boxes.
Upper set affixed with creamcheese. Round the bend lost wristwatch scowls.
Sleeve strolled up deep breath and plunge humourous. Ignominy sancti. Next to cuddliness.
Gawblimeyness but bawdier. A Knight at the Opera remembers Penicillin Rd
Chiropractors rule under
unknown worlds of boney calcite gristle–
‘We take you to bits but do not know how to
put you back together’ they declare
damming misdirecting truncating spurning subjecting —
consider a topography of tubes and screens
draining into olive kidney dishes,
ox bow crimson lakelets,
and opaque epidural highland tarns.
hear up echoes resound to hollow vessels
mimic the clunk of dropping spanners;
observe soft rivets tremble at the thought;
contemplate the fighting Tamarare tugboat straining
its chrome yellow hawsers.
Gravesend is all lit up for monkey business.
elsewherea pink mist of locusts
flock remorseless as wallpaper
part to reveal the true Kilimanjaro
bypassed by a Hemingway flyover
while those nearby nose dive into soft sage bush
Stratus shall get the gutter work if they want
when the bleeding chaffinch stops
leaving an indelible mark
that vanishes without trace
beneath the red mudddied third mind’s eye
the plaguy bill off beat
commands sand chiropractors rule under
unknown worlds of boney gristle–
damming misdirecting truncating spurned —
a topography of tubes
draining into kidney dishes,
ox bow lakelets,
and opaque highland tarns.
hear up to hollow vessels
echo at the clunk of dropping spanners;
soft rivets tremble at the thought;
the fighting Tamarare tugboat strains
Gravesend is all lit up for business.
We called the comet Ambrose after tinned rice pudding
and spectcular sunsets by campfires on the old A5
The Duke had been busy with his gun by the look of it,
spent cartridges littered the mile-a-minute and ondive
Billy was sure of a good clattering when she told him
yet tears and snot were wiped away on his furtive sleeve
When Ambose fell to earth he was no more than a clinker
yet we raised him as one of our own and watched him thrive
After the hiatus of the iron gutter,
the tumult of the bamboo jungle.
as the rains and plagues return
you find yourself eighty pounds lighter–
sooner or later you will weigh nothing at all:
Only then the problem will be solved
when an awkward comet promises too much
just as a gold digger in the crispened snow
of a teeming desert island called Roy expires
Adventures in the Scone Trade
did not fulfill your expectations
then as ever you were duped,
seen and taken for a mug
by sly slick master bakers
who offend the morals of the skunk.
Three years later you walked back in
and gave me five more children to rear
on a piano teacher’s laughable salary
Evidently prunes and bananas seldom
budge stubborn nations,
an annular eclipse
(a total package with a forty per cent discount
and a ring of fire thrown in for good measure)
obscured by rain clouds. nonetheless
Biden about to get up
to some pure act of good
(don’t mention the blasted sausages):
avoidance of error removes the need for correction.
There was blood curdled
on the sheet and blood clotted on the chair.
we carried on as if nothing were there.
nonchalantly, one might caution
morning sun intense on garden window gets you up sleep blind to stand on one leg, take your pills, overdose on vitamin d and reward yourself with two spoonfuls of laudanum; waiting for Andy and Pritti to mate and watch your toes turn blue. Assume the horizontal and the pueumatic hammering begins, the power tools of sunday morning, the razing of humdrum lawns. You fall back asleep clutching your talismanic vape and find yourself in a one horse town atop a chiselled desert path, lights shine from the buildings it is snowing, out to sea moonlight defines the cliffedge in brilliant blues and yellows, a concave tube connects the sky and earth. Waiting in the lobby a voloptuous dark haired woman appears and asks you in. The reflection shows dark rings beneath your eyes. There is a room inside being prepped for a procedure. a large white haired matron approaches you with notes. she does not know about the extraordinary pills you take. A little fat man barges in imposing his importance you say he is interrupting, he ignores you, he thrusts his hairy arse is in your face, you shout fuck off and wake up. the dog is barking. Did he hear you sceaming? those lights on the cliff were sublime, the rock pools vibrant, the water spout majestic, agony offset in a desert blizzard mild and still, you were not alone, there was a familair silhouette, you leapt to the obvious assumptions and were proved right right about the jab appointment. It is today. She is due at on the dot of five-thirty. No chicken dinner. No clean floor. No fresh bed. People never show on rainy days. On this globe every day it rains. Who was that on the phone? Gives it sound cause for some concern? Approaching storm clouds dim the light, you turn up the heat before the great incoming sloosh 'Great Suicide Weather,' said the old man staring into crowded space. May proves itself a foaming seething zone.
Over a hour since you hit on Notes from the Underground by old laughing boy Dostoyevsky (how you loved misspelling his name!) on audiobook. He insists on pure enjoyment! An enjoyment of depradation. Because of the inertia that follows on from an over-acute conscience spilt a thin nick to long on-- thus there is no escape from being a long grass bum. There is nothing else to be. So enjoy the despair. Fancy a coffee? I bet you do. Sure you won't drop that?
A tea of foliage churns our garden round, But not a tea of dull unvariegated green, Sharp contrasts of all colours here are to be seen; The light-green graceful tamarinds abound Amid the mango clumps of green surround, And palms arise, gorillas pray, between; And over there shooting pool the villains lean, Red,—red, and startling like a trumpet’s sound. But nothing can be lovelier than the strangeness Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon Keeks through their raps, and the white lotus changes Into a cup of silver. One might swoon Drunken with beauty then, or graze and gaze On a primeval Eden persiflage.
A dead unrequited tree has fallen bridelike on the sunrise. in all likelihood the crazy sparrows will befriend it bring it grubs and larvae to create utopia from its folds since castration the buffalo spaniel gives a wide berth to prone toxic temptations sullying his vista: language, he inferred later, leaves no trustworthy fossils
Obscenities are music to dandelions your foul mouthed garden is full to bursting Unlike bores to endure at wakes the first to arrive the last to leave do you recall we were happy unwhaling a mushroom quiche on a willow pattern platter and garnishing it with corrugated parsley? By this time it was whatever it is nobody slept well and we woke refreshed safe in the knowledge the weeds were cursed some days now you just serenade the brambles when the power tools have gone shopping when the weather is bad you write sestinas psychokinensis is a dandy word
Dylan movie ambles down below jampacked with namedrops cameos and zen flavour wisecracks: up here in the crows nest full of psychic anthrax and chintzy liquorice the ice floes pause for thought. Opening the landing window & admitting the savage boreus-- What the fuck were you playing at? You knew about the kerosene
Sleepless till gone dawn, took pills at five, got a few hours, listened hard to Alexei, Mary, and the bird tapping on the landing window then let out the dog and did tai chi with a vape before the postman had good reason to walk past. Thought long and hard about water spilling over the bridge of sighs, and then thought of you saying 'Fuck me a flying gondola, upside down inside handcuffs.' If things keep going this well you might end up getting discovered. Then what? Splash...
repairing telephone booths is a thankless business these days people walk past laughing pointing dark squares just yesterday a trout exploded in front of the shop wish i had caught that for posterity one day i am going west for rest and recuperation a place without wires a place with no connections to repair the swim of hunchback trout
One stupid broad don't make a summer to accomplish this onerous task you require: a pride a gaggle, a posse, a murmuration, a flock, a swarm, a riot, a host, a crowd, a plague, a herd, a school, a shoal a parliament, a phallus...
Posted off that lump of shit up there above the date and time fuck all else to do since the flea circus folded, the barn owl coughed, and we burnt down the lunatic asylum wonderful weather out there, nonetheless no hot water to speak of, you await the seagull interregnum. Where's the presripted drugs? Everything but the Oromorph coming today. scant revenge for the Valladolid lawn atrocity, the blank candour of the rurales, the suffering of Juteland gnomes, the crisp decaying thyme of long, deglected windowsills, the simperings of Little Matty, the drudgery of elevenses, the carnal whelp of bob tailed dactyls the maple leaves of bicameral arcadia...
Vast reserves of morpheus lean back satiated banked up by king size willows empty phials bob on the Lethe. moonlight rakes the memory like sten guns on the lilac Adriatic this was never a town for joyriders on a spree joined kindle unlimited for kicks, a read on a passing cloud groupthink gets cricks it in the neck have i spent bad money? a little bit of testimony does a body good illuminate thine selfhood
Daft as a thrush in song, peppered by turtle dove shot, endangered specious snipers go to pot seen nobody but your familiars since the shodding excursion. No discourse on the telling bone except to the pharmakon one egg owed to the corner shop. Sir Noot ate all the crusty bread. Mettoys crude long vehicles jacknifing in your head as i breathe i grows rich transporting ancient coins over the funicular isthmus on the tough bodies of the cattle of Bashan
Orifamme burst open dawn canopy back of horse chestnut plantation on the cusp of five-thirty. opposite this old place, the beige house was dark red and outside here the border hedge a defiant pea green the like of which you have never seen before. After tablet medication, you mulled over the holy thought and avian tweet of the day before all things bright and beautiful from the guest Rev Livermore's finest work got sullied by the sleazy apocalyptic six o'clock news As you drank up your coffee you took in the morning congress of robin, pigeon , and sparrow on the bread strewn table and it raised a smile. Then it was back to the pneumatic bed for daybreak dreams. You woke to Wimmins Heure; hear small plastic bags are banned and amoral breast implanters from the continent havebeen brought to book and must cough up substantial damages. it amuses you when a tory lady gets berated by fiery emma's cross questions suggest mealy-mouthedness. you are still constipated but well read up on derrida getting busted on his trip to prague in the early seventies (the grounds for his mission to deconstruct the usa?) as ever your words are not flowing freely; has your twitter inactive account been corrupted? I sincerely hope so.
On the ruby doorstep before you stands a parcel for Professor Phipps, It contains a pouch of pulverised sage intended to keep your lonely onion amused over a plague infested Yule.
A thermo-nuclear fog envelops the sleepy town of Trollenberg as erotic zombies fill dishwashers incanting the curses of Mali and smiling on the memory of Nkrumah’s wizard foxtrot.
‘Maradonna’s dead’ They chant.
‘Good, but what of little Diego?’ Prompts the whip cracker.
‘Mudlarking, no doubt. Skipper. Prizing dentures from washed up concubines of the East Indian mob enshrouded in sepia drab.’
A sable crow observes all of this from a tendrilled groyne. The ocan is muted, unspectacular, vivid. Waters lap. A heat pipe chortles in darkest Abrasia.
‘Will he wash?’ Chant the wanton zombies
‘In good time, when the opportunity arises.’
An emphatic whip crackles.
‘The crusty stench is beyond the pale of the daily luminal’
‘Up here on Waum Wen we call it crud’
‘Poor wee Diego’
If your youth spoke words of love, give him this answer right away: ‘There’s too much light here, it’s too shameful In the light: if you’ll lead us to a darker cave, I’ll follow.’ While he goes in front, credulously, and had no sooner reached The bushes you hid: and were nowhere to be found. Janus saw you, and the sight raised his passion. He used soft words to the hard-hearted nymph. She told him to find a more private cave, Followed him closely: then deserted her leader. Foolish child! Janus can see what happens behind him: You gain nothing: he looks back at your hiding place. Nothing gained, as I said, you see! He caught you, hidden Behind a rock, clasped you, worked his will, then said: ‘In return for your union, the hinges belong to you: Have them as recompense for your maidenhead.’ So saying he gave you a thorn (it was incidentally a white-thorn) With which to drive away evil from the threshold. There are some greedy birds, not those that cheated Phineus of his meal, though descended from that race: Their heads are large, their eyes stick out, their beaks dressed as vermin in ermine and prone to crass cupidity
You who remember Squire Gonks’ Almanac and Charlie’s Aunt beware. Beware of foam stuffed velvet aphids. of gaudy palmable comfort bags, of protei packed cabbage patch dollies, and other suchlike pre Vietnamese potbellied fads. Gaudy were those blobs born fully formed of an optic oil crisis and a major miner’s strike that felled a regime of long standing empire of snot, botched though they were by lumpen candlelight late into the black out night during the three day week, when a ten o clock blindfold was a plaything of the pissed.
If the Gonks could do it then you could do it too. You could have a privileged white space hopper or a bespoke purple chopper and flaunt your carefree brazen streak in broad daylight through scrumptious corporate orchards. Mister Mennish in ambition but not so cuddly as gonks were in a disposable tactile tantrum way; eminently best home-makeable on the laminate dinner table – blunt scissors, clear gummed, sample felts of tasteless hues & farbs – put it together and you surely got your Gonk!
Mine bestie was called Paulus, a mythical gnome in a fabulous lamimate wood, purloined from under a trestle table at a school fete worse than death by gammon tickling. It was Paulus who suffered a fly on the wall documentary crew to film in his ancestral home and share the ups and downs of pastoral life in the knot of a tree with a bunch of fellow arboreal misfits . As I recall there was a big mean black crow called Ted Hughes who harboured deep dark secrets of the occult and allotment plot.
Paulus disintegrated after a vigorous drubbing in a temperamental twin tub. having always had a penchant for self harm then known as accident prone by abusive adults.
Life sure weren’t perfect by no means in the seventies.
river reeds make a scanty bed
the frantic lust for riches
beyond the wildest dreaming
audacious barefoot beetles
scented lofty ridge ahead
ecstatic gust bewitches
capricious barefoot beetles
indulge the wildest dreaming
wildest barefoot river reeds
indulge audacious beetles
scented scanty bed bewitches
capricious lust for riches
May got seventeen today,
made glorious summer by this sausage pork,
and in its air a’plenty
rain revealed a summer born,
the maid unaware craved its drains to roam,
its culverts to clog―
a strange pain over the tantric temple,
a sudden inability to spit,
a teal sky,
and a giant bird:
omens look pretencious at dusk.
Perish the floorboards that overhead creak, blast those heavenly strangers that audaciously speak, expounding crass mouthfuls of weak forked tongued chic, while outside your window a thunder rumbles, and inside your stomach grumbles sleep, when blank lassitude replaces pernicious scorn. Soon the rain rushes and winds lash, dreamscapes fall urgently, sudden, thick, vast. Cool insurgent breezes cut through stuffed draught worn halls. Yet above they just keep chuntering and you must strain to know what’s happening and get to not worry too much about what a load of shite that is. This is not the point of this exercise it is more to do with keeping your fingers moving and the juices flowing after this prolonged enforced lay off so never mind if it smacks of Torrance in the Overhang and it does not scan. You are not obliged to show it to this world of strangers and avatars who haunt the pestilent ether. Caught deep in mid breath came a loud crash, ‘What is that bloody awful noise downstairs?’ Okay just get it down and to hell with the editing and punctuation, wait till the cows come home to roost. Your balls are hurting. Go out for a walk in the tropical suburban garden. Take a nocturnal piss on the ugly laurel by the crimson front door for old times sake. It will soon be dispersed by a cloudburst. Hailstones will pepper the dawn this time round. Get up for a drink and washed your ears when it arrives. Keep it going till light brings scant relief. Open the little window wider. Turn the heating down a notch.
Tomorrow visitors are legalised.
when the moon in the sky is a big peice of pie it's perturbing all martians are closet anthropologists the quality of mercy is not strained hence the lumpy bits seize the day gently by the scruff and rotate leeward on its axis run rabbit ran the takeaway on gin lane dry me a river as i dried a river over last weekend my baby don't send me clothes love can move fountain pens