Overseas posting
not good enough,
don’t try harder!
It’ll shine when it shines.
Good plop and poem
about New York
by Bugsy Seagull –
something about rap,
Drive-by shooting music.
Got the croc &
ref to Prufrock.
Felt great weight
fall from me.
Refreshed by
Mountain Fontain
Compulsorally hosed,
Crimped, and pinked.
Brunch in Zimbabwe
With old boys
Sporting ties
Old school lies.
Attempts to engage
& inspire provide
Mere, cheap free
fatuous masonry
to bolster up
& elaborate her
Forty fictions;
So, off he traipsed,
hill sheep sullen
to wattle
& daub the beehive
against the elements;
Brittle bricks
& poor mortar
for fear’s shiftless,
feckless gaol:
Self.
I give up &
concern myselves
otherwise.
In confluence,
separation lies.
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Shitting
your boxers
first thing
throws One
right off
One’s stride
I see you
angry and puny:
Cursefully,
tearfully,
damning your lot,
as you scoop it
sensibly
like a grown-up
from the kitchen sink
and fetch it with aplomb
to the awkward
jakes
for final
Absolution
Under
the beach
Hidden
Gold
‘O’er them dunes,
Cap’n Mudd!’
Says Mrs Hands.
‘…just go left at the war mines,
right at the shipwreck,
and,
Bob’s yer Uncle
It’s just there
opposite Aldi.’
…
Put on, or should it be, donned
John’s bonce on the hob.
Brain versus brawn
is a no-brainer.
Meanwhile…
after a lean while
Herod buys bonking time,
hides it in his Wish Urn
The sheer, brazen
Barbaric
Sauce of the fellow!
‘Chopsy prophet.
Salome’s mum
was a right one
too…’
…
Folkestone Ferry
grounded
On Golden Beach.
Lemmings swarm
Ferreting about.
Dredgers look on.
Dormant
In easy, idle, calm.
…
Just waiting
for the
Ebb to Flow
Uphill