Grimbeau

Scroodles

Treasonable Doubt

Grimbeau

Amyl

Here comes the sun to have a laugh,

a snigger, a check it out, a gloat at

little lives playing themselves out in safe,

unhappy scripts:

polishing, dusting, painting crypts.

Rolling tiffs, thinking cliffs, wind blowing quiffs,

In skipper’s beards, fucking weird.

And I sit in judgement. How fucking weird is that?

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Foibles

Grimbeau

220px-Matisse-Woman-with-a-Hat

Grey paint is my usual,

matted not glossed,

ruffled and talced

certainly not groomed

by Governess Pecheur.

Her mild odour

Cologne and cat nip

perverts my lust for

kedgeree and fauve cheeses

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