Slowmo morning swamps tetchy night:
upstairs chatter, cold, hunger, coughs,
and sneeze spread disease. Blog still
playing up. Slept most yesterday
upset by the knife threats and piss
pot hurling at my head:
a glancing blow, not full of urine.
Nonetheless, disturbing and hurtful.
On my own playing misty for me.
Brenda, Hilda, Daily Dampener, Cleo’s Panda:
All Jolly natter past my open window.
A routine mantra measuring out huge
Dollops of pre-school childcare: tendergarten
Sucklings and seasoned toddlers bloodied, bibbed
and tucked, for the battle, the preparation
for bigger battles with the big bad world
Conkers time!
Whore’s chestnuts
Sad fallen
Playful fruits
With crash-hats
In phantasm
light,
battleship
grey,
watch them prowl,
panther black
foraging
poacher’s pad,
sniffing for
nuts in dreek
Let’s go to the loo
Let’s jump in the bog
Devastate the places
Where the putrid vermin hog
Let’s flush them out tonight dear
It’s silly not to try
Rid the world of scumbags
Without a reason why.
What bliss is this?
Sea becomes vapour,
drowns now and then,
bobs up, splays fluke,
blows hole, meals mouth,
dives deep, backs down
The doggy few air the southern mist lands…
Some slept through till daylight coloured the drapes
Grey Pink.
Warm still, fuggy, muggy, stuffy, musty
Climate.
Through slate grey light I fly safe, glide slow up
To here,
The bureau of dreams, absorbing the news,
Sneeze wildly, snuffle, drip, and wet wipe off.
Excess.
Stagefrit,
dumbstruck,
ashen,
The face stared down
on the bated mob.
Nothing would come out:
children exploded, men fought, women wept,
but nothing came out.
Aides de camps and unknown others, bent under
unseen chopper blades, scurried.
Still nothing came.
In the lower right hand corner of the screen,
a purple faced, ill-kempt, bulbous signer,
feminine, signed frantically. The mob paused.
What’s she saying? What’s she saying?
Nothing silly, it’s a pantomime!
Yes, but what’s she signing?
Watch my lips, watch my lips.
Ah, thank heavens!
The collective sighed knowing
The Face only lied when its lips were moving.
Waiter!
Bugsplat the soup it’s toxic and orange.
Deft, nimble, fleet of foot, cunning as Ariel,
Waiter swoops and swats the soup.
Everyone is splattered and grumble.
Did you get it, did you get it?
Yes, they got it. Look at them leg it
For the turnstiles.
Bintruck rumbles,
crunches, and taps,
hoarse growls, and purrs.
All glass slides down,
booms, and echoes in
vast steel cavern.
Clang, clang, thump, clunk
empty boxes
slam dunked, job done,
good work, see you!
So,
we
offer up
these
well-prepped
ants testes
to you
gods
of the
firm
ament
for
the
fecund
ditty
of this our
crop of love
age.
Be nice
for this
once,
we
have grown
tired
of
Grimbeau 