Cool shrooms and anchovy bisque,
homespun alphabetti spaghetti:
Sounds illegible
Cheryl really had pushed
the boat out this time
Always too keen to impress
She was a nutritionist from birth:
worst acne I ever saw
She wore a hood with slits
To see and breathe
Takes all sorts suppose
We call her Elephant Woman
But never to her face
Well I mean how can you?
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Any old iron from Madchester
presents private versus public school
a sniffy cult to keep tabs on so tell me do
Was time well spent preparing
before chapel of rest muzak
on a sunday afternoon
Stuck in a full blown fall down shack
spectating collective bouts of capricious
audacity dissolving like opioids in a deep sea squall?
That’s one hell of a question
to ask of one in the prone position…
when confronted by such a chorus of indifference
Why not just admit to it?
okay yes i got a good whack for being brash with hapless slaves when they got pollarded by lunatics who got their kicks for waving pooh sticks at with real pooh and got bashed up till the cows came home for milking and it was about then a replacement substitute was found abroad squatting on the shoulders of aphids; how seldom do us little apes
learn to carry on by candlelight at all?
Cedric found the Marquess of Coole spreadeagled on the Ottoman with the ‘Half Life
Of Snails’ in her bloodless grip & texted Henry so
Henry knew Edward G was heinous culpable and twigged at once he had to go.
After all the yoke was full with blistered aubergines, midget broccoli festooned the architraves, and a hairless Headcase looked perturbed wrapped only in a samphire throw.
At heart the man was a pushy upstart from Central casting; the one they always let through, the dead loss leader, the hollow idol to kill off with strychnine on a wet afternoon
Think of the afterthrill of eating chocolate in the dark and feeling a little moist.
But it was all a charade. The long positions still held firm on cupidity and smarm
Peregrine was out a sea huntin marlin for Veronica. Nailed up and bleeding effluent from
every orifice he was hooked, lined and blinkered
Lesser narwhals would fold under such pressure and morph into glum beauticians sweeping up
in seedy nail bars.
This was not Cedric’s script. He sought delineation.
Things were simply matters to
order and control.
He set off for the bakery.
Aisling muse done gone walkies
down the labyrinths of Tyre fair
repairs and ultimata haughty
hang loose on the punic air
mean auld half life swell of atoms
resembles cuddly kittens tussling
kinda neat coincidence
such simple little things
make life all worth it:
city slickers at an exhibition
exhibit very poor behaviours
Prussian blue sorted Caesar
who now seethes inside in exile
sipping stale mint juleps
rehearsing trust me smiles
someone sent you
don’t know why
to lick the wind
and smooth the sky
to ludic blunder
watercress
to alight upon
a summer dress
Crippled Brits seek exile in Berlin Alexanderplatz
First world third world slipway lowers
Ulster beseiged by ghoulish superflowers
Post American mercators draw up road maps & bridges
bellicose chartists split up
inner world found durable
weak Lorenzo weeps abundantly
over lost integrity
carbon free footwear found
unavailable on spec
hands and arms open pills while
the London Review of Books turns turtles
overnight while spiderwebs
dipped in liquid nitro stop slugs
Ailing muse gone walkies
down the labyrinths of Tyre
Repairs and ultimata
hang loose on the punic air
No urine today
No shit to swallow
Just lollop round
Chew cud ponder callow
No way to behave
On an indigent hip
Snooze on a marshmallow
Boat train to St Malo
Sat inside the morning moonlight
Digesting yogurt honey banana grape granola
Off the Bristol stools chart
There is a trap set down memory lane
Especially designed for rogue elephants
Inclined to silly pop songs
Got underway yesterday with a pill.
Every day starts with a pill.
A pill and a coffee.
Then it begins.
The wide open vistas
on the Oregon trail
with an irascible Raoul Walsh
screaming blue murder at an empty horse
Overhead beyond the redwood canopy
an eagle soars majestic.
You could
not make it up…
Oh yeah?
‘A hedge of trees surrounds me: a blackbird’s lay sings to me –
praise which I will not hide –
above my booklet the lined
one the trilling of the birds sings to me.
In the grey mantle of the beautiful chant
sings to me from the top of the bushes:
may the Lord protect me from Doom.
I write under the greenwood’.
Day of arrangements comes round quick:
ecg. dazzlertron trials. q & a penury…
all in good time grandmaster
decency witnessed skulking;
kids fetched to school by gramps in faded denim;
Half shut cardoor booms out Knopfler;
beware the axeman cometh
Slither off while time songs slip away
eluding endless defeat in the eye
( why plummet to the sharp inconsiderate edge? )
Observe cyclists lapping Harrogate in the monsoon rains;
Hurricane Lorenzo could misspell trouble;
ModProg Party urges Libpunks grovel;
eating window shuts at two (doctor’s au d’oeuvres);
fallow the money; suckle the honey
Underloping timezones; day night irrelevance;
waiting by the window by a box of magic paints;
jokes of many colours; Creepy nip of March in reverse.
February next. Autoblah. Practising you scales and runs.
Smoking out recherche nuns.
Curry runs. And why not?
Goods as a feast of fresh air half dressed in Petri Sauce
(a radish best served cold).
By Gum, windbags voluminous expel at length.
Middle Eastern din brings cheer.
Tinnny hearts still beat. Wind upping?
Rheum recurs in this weather, drainsplayed, wheezy, guttersniped.
Gastrocellar aftermaths. Superior souls to the rescue.
Dried him out for over a week.
Shake rattle and scowl.
Get useful peel spuds says I. Bad move.
Like Carving soap with
a bradawl. one chip per spud.
bad economicsall round.
time and motion study concludees:
what a waste of wholesome carbs.
Grimbeau 