Safe Home, Erik!

Grave Achilles sat
blissfully darning bed socks for victims of his inexplicable mood swings—
a timely encounter downunder thus helped forge
the great shape of thingness
for shrewd Ulysses’ war eyes sparkled to behold·
on seeing this Achilles carped the diem & told this glum mucker that life beats death hands
down no worries mush

Tummy warming stuff
on this wet day in Maida Vale inside a humming bird’s ear
sipping whalebone bisque before an aboriginal public—
noble stuff indeedy poohs·
however mud sticks regardless take the point
on board & suck on it to extract epic sangine juices
lick lips
breathe a deep sigh without
ever knowing it


What came next was cruciating pain
Inexplicable as always—how many times can you leave home
without your keys till they finally write you off for dead?
Too many cheeseburgers, the certificate said
(one a day for eleven years) takes its toll
of a semi-god let alone the rest
even though they have a voice best ignore it all now
thanks for dropping by yours truly
An audible gasp echoed the Cypress
But looky there!
The creased up
scrunchings of crumpled egos orbit
the waste paper bin with my name on it
call me Mister No-One Much and you may have
a nasty shock in store, piped up Guess Who from inside an igloo
in modern Timbuktu
—By gum, some said, we thought the poor old sod was dead
—Perhaps he is, said Cheese on Toast,
leaning idly on a post

Left No tern unstoned they read

Letters in a Sea Shell,
perhaps — cockle, hermit, conch,
periwinkle…lists of ships on ebbtides
Whose that overacting over there on the bluff?
Iffy lightbulb on the wane dammit
Mistook Ajax for Johnson’s Baby Pulver
No fizzing wonder
Are we not merely the Star’s Tennis Ballerinas?
No we are the playthings of the Gods old thing
Same thing in the end
Yes, suppose it is
How we timid tittered!

Cake eaters rattled bumble crumble
Hunched up over various precarious lattes
down inside voodoo child stuff grumbles
—austerity charity caught fondling figures
violent phones rest in peace on unstable cradles
beckoning a reckoning on—
faith & hope look almost gone
kicked deep into the long grass

under came trouble
mumbling vexed profanities
proud possessor oven elephantine hump
straightened crinkled salty vanity
missing out in summer sanity
all the flowers well kaputt
trampled blindly thunder foot
buried under winter warmers
will this mad wind dissipate
make up its fickle changeling mind?


Fussgonhiem por favor!

Hush sshwept clean fresh brush aside cum summit stalks— made history well history; how phew light years tearswell up as nowcently· crookery nook handshook up a well bent gee gnome
Lamasery shrub gourds fetch mad tricorn branchlines con left blue eye, sprink cosmetico silver outliner pindrip, touch jet black jack skellington taboo; soul rescued rondo fallen tree gnome
Pong from gnome splat leafy tartarus; greebo grunt hoed slug path smudge clingy soddoss ape yuck; tory uppy calendula snakesteam gorgons seep pale lightless green as kidsnot jest plane gnome
herding east on sum yums shunset; big black birdiess sweep up behind the trapeze awe soma kinda flushdump rafter gardenspoiler done up; enacted twilight morning cum torpor gnome
twixt vexed cringes syringes and plasma money jabs pimple oohs and ah-ahsoles. Dreamboaterer droopy wily doldrum torp grooms up day wit awe struck long lost cod almighty gnome
Po—u—idyll— tong-—yinnies!

The Phoney War on Slapstick Ends
Times like this began with Field Marshal Approval in deep hotchpotch jaw-jaw back of Nico’s bar and grill with the clam-baked mongrel hoc polloi baying with piercing snake eyes
‘Better late than never’, sighed swan necked Frieda Sluggish flicking though a growing stack of IOU and billet doux. Silhouetted against the bleak midwinter skyline it all appeared quite plausible to he adjutant steady bogus Chad, whose tab fetish was the talk of the mobsters lounge.
‘Flower sales sank to an all-time low—O’Bannion’s gotta magpie coming uphis way if things do not pick up by Valentine’s Day’, said Doggerel Dom in matching gown and crozier.
Hosiery was ever a cut-throat trade; less a game of football and more a matter of life and debt. Smart plague dogs knew that much as they did their rounds of the loose limbed irony that littered the sidewalks of Oblivion.
‘This place reeks of optimism—check out the Assassin’s Diary for March & see if their booked out for The Ides’, said Bonzo to Gnasher, who never questioned hors d’hoeuvres on Main Street.
Simultaneously elsewhere times they were changing too. Perhaps Slow-Slow-Quick-Quick-Slow was the way of it after all conceded Louis the Song & Dance…
If evidence were necessary the characters froze halfway through what they were doing next and the room filled with a still putrid neutral silence, which you must find uneery or refute. Indeed the rumpus next door in the greenhouse made it all but impossible to focus at all. Our friends remained unmoved showing no a flicker of mere awareness.
Time it seemed was indeed up. Keys echoed in the corridor. They had a life of their own as well to live, you know.
Dignam reminded me in a roundabout way about the awfulmess that lies hidden beneath frozen graveyards, through with fingering his square jawed, jowly lopsided mug. I froze.
The sheer scale of human misery is as incomprehensible as the time spade continuum and defies common sense data and picture theories of life inside. I shiver mindful of the gap
Fussgonheim read the legend

%d bloggers like this: