Cripes a Gull!
In a dank, mildewed grike the bells either
ding, dong, or dull.
The last spat of evening hedgelights the sward.
Then, in the blank of an eye and a
flicker of wee finger
we hear us considering the climate of Sumatra
(a place that should rhyme with tomato).
Things get dafter and soon after
we settle on Java instead.
Wasn’t that sick?
Are you aware?
Me lying dead on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the drones.
Didn’t it miss?
How can they prove?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can’t move.
Where are the drones?
Send in the drones.
Just when I’d stopped opening wars,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my nonchalant air,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.
Don’t you love force?
My call I fear.
I thought that you’d want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the drones?
Quick, send in the drones.
Don’t bother, they’re here
Isn’t it sick?
Isn’t it clear,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the drones?
There ought to be drones.
Let’s get out of here.
‘What do you do when the muse shows up?
‘Hide the biscuits’
‘Huh’
‘Oh yes… stands to reason five months on the frozen tundra, hunters after ones antlers’
‘Syringe your ears’
‘Not yet’
‘What?’
‘You said Ginger nears’
Pinball and Dickens, it will rain soon: the window will be shut.
Our hero is unwashable.
His father done bad investments.
Cold uncle with the sneery clerk do not help.
What is worse is that is he must go
faraway from this familiar terror
work for Squeers and dwell in his world.
Back in London the dirty oiks cheered him
on his way and gave him a letter.
he did not read it, forgot it.
We worry about him.
He drops the letter, retrieves it from the carriage floor
and reads:
‘…you can come at night. My spilling has gone with my wallies. Pops.’
Bogart rides dumb waiter to Casablanca.
Greenstreet in fez and white suite whips flies dead.
We whisper secrets in the Fool & Bladder
The spies, Leech & Lamprey, eavesdrop us.
Landlord Russ Catt, Suffolk stone-licking champeen,
claims Henry the First once choked on this spot
in fourteen-fifty-three. Throbbing bulbous
bloodshot eyes are persuasive. Once he licked one
thousand stones in just one hour. Languid lipped,
pueumatic limbed, a gurgle ball of gungey
frogspawn in his throat. We departed when we
had heard him out feeling modestly pissed.
A slow heavy fast night of clammy claw
CS Lewis wakes up the coffee hour
Good banks for the rich: bad banks for the poor.
Loose head props a sea of waxy flowers
Lolling on the blue, crucible altar;
Swimming the foamback Bosphorous caprice
Carpetted riviera road floor.
Catch the earlybird bullet to Nice!
Consideration: transportation is
Unavailable at this holy hour
Also calculate the lonely crowds of rose
That spend so much time wallflowering
Patiently awaiting a tender pruning.
Nine and a bit of fun boy three and weak sun;
cold fingers tingle
so…
perhaps downunder for a warm and a brew.
Up since five: must stay warm. Limp lions cut no
mustard & cress
Forget to learn there once was jam and black
berry toast. You cannot mend a broken
heart or a broken law; fines, sanctions, cautions,
cops, courts, gaol, torture, solitary confinement,
screws, life, death, release, parole, escape, execution,
appeal, discharge, rehabilitation, detox…
commit another one: food for thunk.
Cledgy, mired coach clay, flint, chipping stone way
Or road
Demi light with stars
Open
Big front window room to roam
Sloth slinks up till dawn and bedtime: dog in
Dog out
Pooh! One is grateful for a humongous stale
Log in
Watched over by Winnipeg beavers
Well-ordered sawmill workers of Saskatchewan
Never so big as the mad at the bbc
Fawning sycophantic plum voiced on
A day to dismember ken barlow charged
By bet lynchmob for druidic noncling
With children seven so far Prince Zorba:
Not dead just snoring.
Heed the two houses dwelling opposite
Growing in daylight I cannot see what
I am writing – very exciting and
Unusual typing errors do not
Matter with a pen: legibility
Is the thing. Speak to my legible
Razorbill; get advice and nails cut.
Five a day everyday: honeysuckled.
Police in california dampen
Cold when asked about a disappointing
Flatfish takeaway from Martha’s Backyard.
Cannot see to count the spilt sugar in
Lap swept from the working surface landing
On my leg and cascading to rest like
Sand I am shorsighted and the shadow
Of my seated bulk all obscuring
All that falls before me I will smoke at
Four fifteen am. Single Ladies Final
Between Black Amazon screaming Yank
And White Caucasian screaming blond Yank
Rain unlikely and likely for grunting Spaniard
Man and grunting something Slavian man
On tomorrow, Sunday. Both of these events
Take place at the Roland Barthes tournament.
Fields of golden snails and periwinkles
Crushed by generations of bash foot
Stamping sliding budgeoning foot crunch
And make a sandpit in Paris to play in
Over the weekend and other times if you
Are rich, powerful, and influential
And it is not pissing down a deluge
For there is no ceiling roof for refuge.
To and fro: in and out of play all day
Work done over load and friction empty
Ball. Sweat is the weakness coming out we
Are oxygenerators on a grand
Scale writ large and mind still clear swift sharp
Mass, movement, power: but, slow, paused
Interrupted. Patterned by traditional
Regulation says the court is too big or small.
Time, light, weather, rootlessness, atmospheres…
6:14 PM
Alone all day awake and asleep, done
no work, went out on the balcony: the
batman plays the Stradivarius – Blink.
Grimbeau 