‘Awe! That Fall…’

bum sore after Sunday
drunken stumbling clunking fall
loose green sock cops blame…

Aragon Nite

Tomorrow is not happening yet—adverse climactic features, heavy sweaty day scowls disapprovingly down, sparkless key bashers bang away down tin pan alley,

becket wrote endgame in such conditions staring down at Santé Prison in one second on a grey autumn day in Newcastle, Co. Down in the year of our Ludd 2016.

Mother-of-Pearl skies loom, make for a luminous emptiness, a milk-ivory lamina patina, we inmates parallel such lineage for diversion in my dowdy sweatshop.

The relief of Mafeking Head! The whirligig dances of the Dervish push no rivers, pull no punches at swim in the holy whole of holies

When they ask Jimmy the Greek to ‘resolve a wager before war breaks out, is that the sun or the moon up there?’, he gives his droll stock response:

there is no point in asking me as I hail from the Craic of Doom, Doomsville, Doomistan…’, and goes about his mail order business with added gusto.

Lo Energy Sport

no great hopes for this
one—no obligations or
contracts to fulfil
all hours are zero round here
countdown to entropy
always commences with
your starter for ten

treading water

quiet slow warm clean
Great Sea Voyages of
What makes us stare at
open windows opposite
black as television sets
when there’s nothing worth watching?
just another empty room
exactly the same as this
‘cept the other way round
now that is quite interesting

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