Alimentary, My Dear Wotsit
We are such stuff
As turds are made on,
and our lives are
rounded by a rest room
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Two reds yield one dry black,
it did not touch the sides
(according to forensics)
Some Sicilian
Reno, Gino, fuck knows who
has taken up the Piccolo!
(well, scrub my rug!)
a fight for puff till
will surely ensue
resulting in the
death of bother or either.
Sicily is worth fighting for –
Just ask George Patton,
or Corleone,
sometimes Sinatra.
It’s quarter past three,
just Barney & Me,
the days closed right in,
with the rain and the wind
mistletoe grows
roots in my toes
flowers in air
I’m drinking my friend
To the end
Of a heliotrope
So no sun for my baby
And no sun for the road…
Shadow of the Ibex;
Billy & Nanny Chew Flesh;
Capricorn Lites;
Paddy McGinty’s Chainsaw…
Dontya just love them
Celtic Goat Stories?
Clunk it went when
Night fell
The hobnail in the stairwell
Since my booting accident
I can’t hear night fall
At all
Wet caged masquerades
Cattle low as hanging fruit
Ferment in the bog
We have all been here before
It’s Deja-vu again
Mystery repeats itself
First time stealthy
Next time selfie
posted on Facebook
by wholesome lonesome cops
looking for promotion
& insurrection
To record for training vids
Go to Youtube – have a look
She said so
said she
sure
she said
sure she said
so
said she
sure so
she said
Sure
Smokey, swift grey cloaked
Ghosts flit in ochre twilight
Garish Animal umbrella
Leads cagouled girl child
Safe home round the bend
Fireworks flash far off
On market town slopes
Sleet lights blind shadows
Afflict brief glimpses
Midday
& many
minutes
Winzersturm
a’cummin
shut
Up!
Patti Smith drops in –
Sad eyed world wary
Horses Leap
one ear cocked
Back in the day
when we all had hairdo’s
All was do it yourself.
Slipping slipshod rhymes.
The curator swept out the door
hovered on the wind
Grimbeau 