By Grimbeau

“Your universal joint’s gone west,

its serious,

I’ll do my best.”

He frowned.

The tension was killing me

so I kicked it off

hard in the nuts.

It bolted.

You could not see its heels for dust.

“I’ve cracked it!”

exalted the wheelwright

straightening up.

“You had pre-stressed oil:

now you ain’t.”

I danced with joy,

it started raining.

The rain dance

is the only

dance I know.

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noIses ofF




ickle blue flowers
freckle privet hedge-walled lawns,
postage stamping ground
indiscrete neighbours natter
revealing deep deep shallows
concerned by sleazy kid-stuff,
cuss dustpan groaning agony as it sweeps, hovers, circles
drifting in & drifting out of giant confidential trees, fed on
squirrelled snippets, tasty morsels of carnal chicken nuggets,
positions now untenable,
unrequited lusts
& shrivelled cold roast potatoes,
Doors slam shut the it’s indoors
Assuage vituperation’s quenchless thirst
Swill down viprous vodka and
tucking up time in gross grandma slang…
tomorrows will always be
better when you go about
schizo, dizzy, fizzy, thrill packed lives, leaving us remaining
snoopers to wait & warp & wait while getting better every day
in every way in body if not mindfulness…

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