Deep dark blue
Indigo Ink
Squids under
Black Seas
She crossed herself
hoping to die
how come she
ended up living
a lie?
A life sentence…
A death sentence…
A syntax of despair…
Quick smart snicker
Polka dot
Gypsy dancer
White skies
Kissed the red earth
Dying to live
Ended up dying
A truth
I do not fit in with anything today
just passing through with as little fuss,
the bare minimum. Today is not
a day dodging knives and barbs,
rolling under punches,
taking issue large and small,
crucial and otiose
No, today I shall be a rough sketch moving,
a fleshed out notion, a shadow of a familiar
I cannot be bothered to recall.
See, it works – I tried to recall.
It is good to talk when no one’s listening,
just pretending, no revealed or hidden agendas,
no issues to take account of. Hassle free.
Last night’s feast for lunch instead, postponed due
to pork pies. A Quiche! Bless you. Shrove
next Tuesday. Easter April Five. Another
forty days & forty nights wilderness.
Invert and live in lushious luxury!
The Jolly Messiah, rollicking cove
frolicsome, flatulent, Fallstaffian
Game for a laugh. Fat cross bum. Floozies seep
with laughter. Knickerpissing! Raus, Raus.
Crucifixion riot. Festival of the oppressed.
Why waste carnival on the cold months?
Turn the world upside down in Spring.
Letta tausand blumen blume…
After the ball bounce
Ricochets back between eyes
Reeling in the ears
Stumbling, rumbling, thundering
Tenements lack confidence
Disorientated
Blitzed, razed,
Untenable
Ruins
Sigh out Loud
The urge to destroy is a
Creative Fiction
Born of turbulence
&
Friction
Dereliction of solemn
Duty.
Developers pursuing
Booty
Goat’s eye moon subsides
Ruthless Heck cows run amok
Von Stroheim goes ape
#1
What kind of fuel are you?
Wind, she replied,
What about you?
Paper
#2
When do they beguine
The beguine?
After the
…
#3
The night had
A thousand
Eyes
Ouch!
Nine hundred and ninety-nine
#4
Nights in White Satin:
Freezin’
#5
Young and green
Only seventeen
okra
#6
Who let the dogs out?
Who let them
in?
#7
And now
The end
Is
Here
Pomes is
Commoditties
Vacuum packed starshells
Beside the brassica
Liquid cheese fajitas
Above the pistachios
Something for the weekend
The Poet
A mere commode…
So go to
work on a leg,
or,
better still,
two.
Plumb
the crumbliest,
Flakiest
confection
in the world
it does what
it says
on the tin:
Authentic
Teak
Finish
Go on,
Try it!
Yes, you can
If you like
Ike
& Tina
Tuna Chunks
‘All the best poets are in advertising’
i heard a flanneur say
so i put him in the compost
and I’ll bury him in May
Four in the morning;
radio off.
Silent sleep till…
Listful, churning daybreak
Nina ticks the boxes: arms,
Legs, eyes, souls all present
Incorrect but nonetheless…
Moon waiting, peeved, tapping
On the hollow roof, leaning on stack
And ridge tiles like a lazy bailiff
Time for mass critical
Time to bind leviathan
With mistletoe and
Gossamer cupidity
Dark
It’s
Curtains:
Ambergris
Smattered lovingly
In rugged tapioca.
Curtains
Its
Bark
Grimbeau 