Ambrige Analytica

by grimbeau

Found ruminating
over moist Golgotha cud:
infrequent query bugs
hurry up
get on with it….


Is your ending really my beginning ?
For how could it not be so-

by the way of things –
How’s that old doggo dada of yorn?

Dead as dogged dogmeat doubtless
Licking up pillaged
pulverised muskrat inches
under true blue shrewd weather

How’s mine going, is she there yet?

Is she the one over there
Over there by the trough
Sneaking a quiet one
Legs crossed in the corner
on a woodbine ?

Yes. Same as it ever was
Smoking woodies in a boob tube,
pigeon chested to the waist
sorbing robust summer sun,
short sleeved designer pastel shirt
open gaily to the waist,
walking staccato now
stumbling about on buggered feet,
thinking what god knew
once upon a time.

Buddha-like inscrutable is the Buddha.
Head full of blinding anguish
Aloof crude wonky dreams

Suchlike stuff filled Leaf’s
Numbskull & embossed bones
creeping steep sunken garden
late Good Friday afternoon,
as she with auric brass neck
& hard shoulderpads;
sharkfest eyes bloodshot
after catch-up daytime sleep
after a bad night twice remembered
that kept her up three days
killing time with gimmicky
zombir horror films,
relishing copious rot lurid
cartoon blood oozing from every pixel,
made aware of skull cap thinning
a wildly, itchy unkempt
beard of cheesewire, a wretched
sight altogether to behold.