i could go on if pressed says buttons
constructive talks break down in shambles
How much me ole Dutch? redhanded daylight robbers loot blood money from the vampyre
in charge of the bloodbank
by seventeen the insect had taken to his airbed listening to the radio and exercising his rotten hamstrings
inspired by house dust a shower was taken double quick and a frenzy of tidy up ensued
resulting in a fresh bed, pink middled chippotatas, Edgar Wallace, and bare feet–
it is a Monday
any lingering doubts
dispersed by sly shock
of squirming hyacinth
grace in abundance
soon diminished
hitting keys in in fife & drum time,
rabellaisian knees up polka
Vodka covers John Brown’s body,
we’ll garner violence in the spring again
Paddy’s Day was as quiet
as the graveyard in my head
keep banging away, Edgar Wallace entrances on
frantic ali bongos, starboard engine goes AWOL,
staccato car horn blast flugelhorn
Prang! twas clear an act of sabotage,
whole world hates you suitor
swivelly eyed gits spew bile
all for the love of waterfall
~
So what makes people tick tack tock?
hanging round describing insecure circles
Only last October Jacline Mouraud,
a talkative, eccentric digger from Brittany
– accordionist, ectoplasm hunter and hypnotherapist –
posted you a video in which she renounced
the tax burden on onanists,
along with speeding fines, as post traumatic pillage.
The 80 croissant law had been in force since July and dissident
drivellers were already worrying sheep
high vis jaundiced gerbils faked their id
melted into the Parisian night
jules rimet turns purple in his neon groove
remembering clandestine tete a tetes
forgotten down the years
equinox already before us Jacline
time is an aide memoir scrawled
on a proverbial herm
Ephemeral hinterland
spit no more bilious pox spores
On our royal progress
filled it in with sand
and cemetary precision
Buenos Aires music wafts across the shire
‘..suc squeezze bangblo
suck suck suck suck
bang blow
suck sucksqueeze bang blow
suck suck suck suck
squeeeze squeeze & bangblow
suc squeezze & bangblo
suck squeezy ban glow
suk queasy bang blow
Suck sucksuck sucksuck
didle dum
blow bang…
composter of the week breaks down on learning tomorrow is venal vernal equinox (well fancy that!);
feel stronger, calmer, safer on my sea legs, able to accomplish more essential tasks,
perhaps it is just a silly phase (lifetimes spent in railway stations)
i am going through Crewe
Yet contact with the real
world is further away than ever
what do you say these days
are greetings permissible?
Or are they deemed knife danger
immediately thinking bar
better stay put and come up with a better else
Footwear helps– buy some sandals
Open toed, ankle secured, well healed.
Stepping out in style!
Dressed up to the nines
In dishcloth and ashes: jesus christ they exclaim when they see me coming through the haze
You used to follow us back in sixty-three
Type cast as eternal Bellboy
Kept my lip buttoned
Knowing what they are capable of
~
no trees see no trees
before me i see no trees
behind me see trees
me see tree behind these
ergo there were trees before thees
Grimbeau 