by grimbeau


The Sunday Hunt gets off in foible, bloodfeud & birdshit·mild panic ensued over still waters ·quelled a relapse into hell· then half thought it over-

applied soothing silver slave, deployed a magic plunge, ointed it with ju-ju leaves                                   & sat & waited till cries abated watching England fuck up at Trent Bridge—

forgive him for his gaping wounds old chap he suffers from tsunamis— gotta to getta grip Odette· crushed velvet gauntlets of three hundred one armed bandits sit before me egging me on —

up you get face a newbie — car chokes back coughs old farts depart—no gumtree for old man early worm catches bird off guard—watch it you—getting displacement wobbles· and the night—what of it?

up ever three times
experience tells us so
pees foreshadow poohs· but seriously!
Errant on the side of caution
What garbage Mistah Torrent—
object of intent obscure scotch bonnet mist on Loch Drongo
(one that never lifts it seems)—put the ball in the right area
—hard work when you only know the left areas—
process pit of imagination
pure dredgery
through all the detritus
litterbug droppings denote
previous expeditions—
swimming Annapurna? Yep


at last resort-read hardback book
‘Occidental death of an Onanist’
By Edgar Rice-Krispies
smirk cyno-cryptically
recounting quest to find
two thousand year old Egg
preserved in catnip
Dr Living-Room one presumes
—She part man part wheelchair—
crash landed on alfalfa centauri
hurled out at hi speed
jaw jut headstrong altitude
plaid exuding quirky confidence
made noodles fine as angel hair
not that many knew that side
hid light under a bushel
aware it would soon burn out
burnt rice paper lanterns