Harry S Truman rests back on a space hopper:
‘look here, if they won’t take our shit, we’re history…right Mac?’
A quiet ruffling; random coughing; small collusive smirks—
the usual suspects finger fad gadgets
We could have cut the atmosphere with a skateboard…
yellow wave insurgent sea
splashes hurdle ‘arbour wall
drench morning strollers
shiny black mackintoshes
up buttoned collars
seek out scoundrel’s last refuge
working man’s café
hot cup of green tea
do more good than harm
waste not to want not
facing stark choices
Bovril or Marmite
Mermaid or Dolphin?
wash your face at least
funny taste of surgeon
red carbolic soap tablet
fiddly little cuss it is
the only way is…Oops!
play is suspended
due to lack of interest
casablanca time
W on e
ssS tep
pp bE
yo
…..ooO
….nn
n-Ddd
d D dr
Seven Books,
spider words,
snuffed snow
black candle.
A leeward window draft.
Please reprise the reprise.
Axminster Aztec
brick brown rug.
Time to go south,
flight to light.
Nice.
There to remain in sunshine nights.
Mornings open doors to lazuli
lapping the boulevard.
Coy smell of fish, cognac, and coffee.
Dogs yelp gulls off:
Jazzzzzzzzz…..
maybe tangelo looking up first thing see i want to fall in love eventually one day just to feel how it felt looking up first thing i see your pumpkin orange gloves
Tomorrow is not happening yet—adverse climactic features, heavy sweaty day scowls disapprovingly down, sparkless key bashers bang away down tin pan alley,
becket wrote endgame in such conditions staring down at Santé Prison in one second on a grey autumn day in Newcastle, Co. Down in the year of our Ludd 2016.
Mother-of-Pearl skies loom, make for a luminous emptiness, a milk-ivory lamina patina, we inmates parallel such lineage for diversion in my dowdy sweatshop.
The relief of Mafeking Head! The whirligig dances of the Dervish push no rivers, pull no punches at swim in the holy whole of holies
When they ask Jimmy the Greek to ‘resolve a wager before war breaks out, is that the sun or the moon up there?’, he gives his droll stock response:
‘there is no point in asking me as I hail from the Craic of Doom, Doomsville, Doomistan…’, and goes about his mail order business with added gusto.
the psychology
of redemption goes like this—
put on the kettle
pretty pl e a s e…
Off hunting after
Water, smoothness…
warmth, lichen, eumony
No surprises
No good at that since
things went from bad to bloody awful
When you saw me coming
Over with an isotope
Grimbeau 