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.
#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
petrified rainbow
flaccid lambeosaurus
washed up in Bexhill-on-Sea
—aren’t men useless?
Donut talk juss eat
Said bulging face
Illuminating
My face with spit
Sure I butted him
Split the orange
Like two thumbs do
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.
More Myth than Pith
read the plain yellow cover-
no author, no publisher, no nothing to go on
apart from copious words on waxy,
grey municipal toilet paper,
all held together with a giant orange paper clip.
Emma had found it on her doorstep bubble wrapped in a plain brown envelope
after responding to a gentle tap on her bathroom window
A slight smell of lavender and carbolic wafted up as she flicked pages with a numb thumb. The writing was small, sharp dark pencil.
The hand right-slanted, neat, clear, compelling.
It was the story of her life so far
…just keep on going, keep on keeping on, just keep going on, one leg after the other, over and over again, running, walking, trotting, stumbling, hopping, skipping, jumping, leaping…just keep on going on and on…
—Prose-poetry! My very favourite! She trembled
…hurtling it is, hurtling past fast. & I…
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Halfway out
mauve porch
some sun decides
to join the party
bins are emptied
rain wet ramp,
hick brick Ha-ha
under tree detritus.
Here
Jackson Pollack
Frolicked once.
In the dry, damp dust,
scattered with cinnamon twigs,
silver Simeon stones,
and missionary weeds,
A mandrake sighs.
Grimbeau 