just as I stormed out
(stories of abrupt
departure & failed
reunion make up
this – my stock in trade)
all anguish became
fear & suspicion
(once again the guilt of the
victim who has always had
enough)
~
The only blood spilt
was as ever mine
yet I was in the wrong just as
ever I was before for as
long as I could remember
~
There were my motives
always questioned and
wistfully approved by those
who held the sway over things
at that particular time…
(to be continued…)
Napalm funburst sunset, oilslick bitter tears
Give way to pork smells, rumbaba, cockatoos
Squawk, rustles of last gasp, reeling tigers,
plangent oozing, floating, clades and phylums
make touching, silken, floating islands.
everything comes to
those who can be bothered
to make the effort
crashed out on Jung’s Porch
gazing up at the upside down
welcome mat above the door
so you’ve got to think
upside down to make it out
Your visions will become clear
only when you can look
into your own heart.
Who looks outside, dreams;
who looks inside, awakes.
– Carl Jung
No matter when a god will come
When I take the air and roam
the tombstones and monuments
the iron door clicks ajar –
the cycle is complete.
Only now the air is sound
is it safe to do the rounds.
When I check the last twitch,
the most challenging flitch,
the one at the top
of the heap grips the grill.
A zither plays loud mad brash.
I pull my sword and euthanize him.
Then & only then the loading can commence…
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?
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
So we cut the abstract,
not like light or mayhem
See that, I missed it too
Perhaps it…no
Don’t fall for that
Luxury
Turn off the light.
Shan’t see now
Angels
This is you and me
Once immediate
Like a memory
Of
Important lightning
Lunch upon
time used
every second
fecund
Sporting matching
bonnet and black, baggy
jumper.
Sweaty, seedy boxers,
and fresh Homer slippers.
Ready for inaction.
Frost
promised,
don elastic
cotton vambrace,
the day begins.
Where was the spoon?
The Spoon – the fucking spoon!
Water was running,
Loud and constant
running water
You left the fucking tap on!
He could just make out the familiar, nasal tone.
My eyelash is awash with milk suds
Not quite a froth
Clambering from the cereal bowl
Was arduous hard
Like pond weed
And gypsy tart
Grimbeau 