Housework
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.
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
Cleaner, obscener, Greek God-like, romantic visionary gobshite, deified by self and mothers, receives less than enthusiastic response from beleaguered eejit trojan woman
Hoi polloi turn away sneering like Mutley at yet another abortive ruse by ludic evil genius to ground flighty, devious Columba
long slow road to equanimity stretches far ahead, distorted by sunstroke induced hallucinations, delusions of grandeur guaranteed by new toilet seat
obscured by cloud, the righteous dispute perceived flash promises of non-stop wall-to-wall sunshine on venture out
itchy feet pandemic induces potassium permanganate price hike on world markets, espadrilles nationalized in Atlantis
huge wave of despair sweeps over low self esteemers—
what is the incidence of Alopecia in Appalachia?
Dorset five held indefinitely by Etruscan potwallopers, Foreign Office remain vigilant. Time is of the essence.
Like Keaton
Granite fey
Agog
Aghast
Watching you
Alone
Walking away
Those sublime hands
Thrust deep
That old grey, fleecy,
Hoody down
Right to leave
While the goings
Bad to bloody
Pointless
Tooth-Hurtyish,
twinkling casually on
the blackened ovaries:
bleck and wite unite
and fight in equaliser dreams;
might have beens, should have beens,
mass in your strangulated,
nutritionless mind,
in your dreams like somewhere safe,
nuzzling down,
cuddling up in green mossy pot,
snug as a bug in a rug.
Issugh jurnee inn
Two A toothy ungnome
Jellow nomadick
Fine dingduh pursa fleedum
Inner bling-ding ovum I
Big joB geTs me Up
coNgress on aNti-mA:tters
– wasH & blOw Dry
Back Abed fOr SoMething
uNderStood & mOre zEddds
(c’minG neXt sEconD…)
Fluffup bed & pUll bLinds toO.
SlEep NogO zonE
(aArgh, diDdums!)
6.51: coLd, cOld, colD –
uP the theRmOstaT tO 22c:
nEws, sNooze, cRuisE…uP theM woodY
stAirs to wasHhouse
(acc: a mUzak buGleR, cHip)
cOOkhouse sOunds siZZle,
sPlash, coLd wAter RunninG…niCE!
Bullets rain,
winds prance,
Cold suns rise,
firebirds dance.
Sirens wail,
beggars chant:
Honi soi qui mal y pense.
While sat below a while ago—before I got the milk in came a great relief—heard a bell ring in heaven
a landlord got its wings—
a very rare event indeed.
About that time, awareness rang up left a voicemail— warm sound
easy gift wrapped me up, perplexed it now felt safer
spinning round,
I trusted again—cautious winds ceased—less tension in my upper back,
the legs grew longer, my ankles suppler, more alive—all in all a new level, no
final plateau as I had feared,
another stairwell to paradise opened— this is how:
a kiss of appreciation and a big hug in hard times can do, seems
it is never too late.
Never over till it’s over —these gifts are fine and
rare for the baited bear—how the
society of others stinks—no purse
strings attached this time—caring for a living corpse—a body of opinion—
getting bitter twisted now go forgive your memories—
they know not what they do—do you?
~
Smoke goes up dog farts open tent flap—next door neighbours mirror bin
retrieval antics—what does it all mean?—disapprobation of sloth—
spherical tantrums—looking for trouble· now why would that be?
—questions crowd in thanks to dog farts—how myths are made—
Quite by chance inspiration—since walking was a sin—when death
came knocking at the door to collect protection money with menaces—
sunshine and birdsong—men’s semiotics—all foreign affair
gnomes observe great tits concealed by crimson tropical cactus—
Carmen Miranda shuffles across the veranda with a giant panda
shaking a wicked maraca—must be yes we can day of the dead—
four idle prisoners evicted from prison for crimes against the state
—don’t charge in like that—all the time it takes in the world is what it takes—never say die just stop going on—
and start all over again or else—stop wrestling adolescence—
it wins out every time…