Get closer to the word machine.
Inside the hum and burr, that is
Can you hear it computing?
Now we get bones from fur,
when it is stem-celling.
Many furs die along the way.
As for the survivors, with training
the could become stamp cells.
Put them in acid for a few minutes and…
Bob’s your Uncle!
Still dreek dark heavy misty morning.
Half-hearted cock-crow, with my radio on;
pressing for a coffee… strip down terror
suspects by May. No, says June. Bitter spat.
Handbags.
We’re here because we’re here because we’re here
Shifting goalposts. Sand riddle, like the Sphinx.
Typical government trickery, hickory dickory.
Mouse roars, clock flees in floods, sea of time
Cold! You fool, sure you are.
It’s the end of January:
Wintertimes…
I was just saying about
cycles of fears,
anxiety’s loops,
good old complexes.
Fairy rings: leaves a message.
Crisis, milkman! Dog bolts, Splash.
Dog breaks milk:
‘So very, very, very sorry… Are you OK’
‘Don’t worry…no use crying over it.’
Hahahahahahaha.
The dog has bolted.
Through the fence and near away.
Come and get in.
No!
And so it was below
to early evening telly
and braindeath,
the curtains are drawn,
the room ill lit
by an old standard lamp:
grey ochre and stale air.
Wild Arabia, Wild China, Wild West Wind…
Pain, Pus, and Poison.
Appetite lost.
Nearly out of smokes.
A bag of ready salted does.
I hang on watching people talking about art:
what’s on, what’s good, what’s what,
and lay down my sword
Til tomorrow
Align your fears,
prick up your ears,
allay your tears.
Here, have some
iconic transparency,
a few homeless truths.
Always rent yourself a burglar when you get a flat.
Take two lifetimes,
a croissant,
and a ‘Kiss Me Quick’ cat.
Bury your knee at wounded heart,
go marry a buffet saint.
nigella’s got black eyes
Mary Berry aint.
I could’ve slept all night
I
Cudave schleppt
All night…&
Stillav’schlept summore
I
Kudda did
Sumthings
Eye’ve
Nefferdun
Bevor….
I’ll never know wot made it so
Xcitin’
Wen allat wonce my art
Took flite
I
Ownly no that shee
Began two dance wivced
Me
I
Cuddadanssed
Darnstdarnsed
Allnite.
Grabbed a bite and had my pills,
found a lorry on the doorstep.
It’s enough to make you sleep
on the underside of the sheet.
Three gifts day, so where are wise guys?
Far away in the Levant, gassed,
Scourged, headless – left for dead.
As for us damned refugees,
Godforsaken orphans
of storms, beast housed: Waiters.
Modest chrome silver drooped lamp,
a huge, grey gym ball and the rest
of the detritus of dead Yule:
dead skin flakes, crumb strewn, smoke dust
coats the mats, the bedding, and
wheelchairs – a seat where mites scoff
Then explode, overfull on the
rich pickings. Intangibly sensed
accummulated filth, fired by
the chill draught of blasting wind
Here a dog ventures out into
the dark aftermath of the
nights storm and the place blows-in…
Eusebio is extinct, died off yesterday.
Sidelight set on sill. Time is a herb.
Lights going out around here. It will be soon.
Two disconsolate blackbirds hop and wobble
on the lumpy lawn of mud runs,
wet dark brown leaves,
and old dog turds of autumn.
Swift smoke streams, light grey wafts
and heavy laden, leaden clouds
rush on the blasting, frantic wind.
Stoic conifers and bare trees bend
and unbend, weave, give and lean.
The rosebush drips heavy fruit, unsteady silver water.
The hens gather silent in their hovel.
Safe as a puffball in a hotpress
wise beggars under feather sacks
in a draughty corner on a damp straw floor.
Fed and quartered on beds edge.
The cold sun sinks, limp shadow
wraiths strewn screeds, scatty notes,
forgotten glimpses of time pledged
dreaming word dreams, now merely
ungainly ugly doodles.
Weak, sloppy, turgid, grey
premises of yarns & plays.
No, just throw them all away,
The black bin bag is waiting:
You only have to turn around.
‘Snow is not thick on the ground’
Hopeless weatherwomen say
When nobody is watching.
