A Jakes Progress

Father lampshade,

Mother rug,

go gliding upstairs

through dreek formless fug,

real time is taking shape.


Thus can Moby Grapeseed  dwell

in grotty motley,

spangled alcazar;

nasalizing hypnotic

verse into a well-travelled

voice recorder on the jakes

for acoustic, hygienic

and ambient purposes.


Here he will be found by a

stranger with an

axe and smartphone,

who will flush out thoroughly,

do his duty and wash his hands

passing shipping…

…sailing littoral lagoons

isthmus archipelagos

seasides of tranquility

peace pours soft kisses on

 atlantics city shapes

slowly watching conveyors

silhouetted by the  moon

Night of the Daemon

Under tree mad vistas

Wind ruffled brutal sages

Earthquake shuffled riders

Canopies crow shadows show

Scooped Caligari canyons

We shake and thrill as grinning

Scrofula eats violets like puma

Oak Chest



Mid-seventies pro

situ critiques of critiquers

half-torn narky junky rags

heaps and hefts of twaddle

drafting epic wotsits

arcane metabollox

sure to knock Ulysses

into a cocked hat

(hanging on the wall)

unfinished ineffable

absurdist dramaturgy

mad philosophers

with haunting names like

Coathanger & Toothbrush

Wires, cassettes, paperclips

And two holy matching socks

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