Plummeting Skywards

by grimbeau

having a hatwave
a topical hatwave
overtures over
white cliffs of dover
you certainly cant, cant-can’t


Barbirolli more swaggers than minces

over like D’Annunzio balling crazed

Avanti Italia!’

I am struck dumb by her swan neck

veins taut rope glisten.

Recoil in horror.

You bet I did.

Where’s Duran Duran?

Off busking with a Pink fucking Panther.


Sitting on a mushroom cloud

Buddy curls up neat

now waiting for a kiss.

Hurt goes on and on.

Walking like a sumo

quince in his nappy.

See I remember some bits.


The Dixie Whistlers vanished without Tracey,

I consoled her briefly and moved on

to Fenchurch Street to chuck some bricks around.

This is what I’m like.

Impossible: an impossible person.

Imp. Vip. Rip.

Rest in peace very important, impossible person.

Not moi! Not I?


Here lies big gob, gargling blocked drain

I slept in once in Newmarket…

Wake up, Norman!

Dropped off, must have…

Hurt still on the wireless.

Barnard is risen.

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