Back to the sea
back to the sea
back to the tree
Sitting out dusk
blind by invasive
halogen terror
security blankets
caught thinking
in headlights
driverless
tree-surgeons
sawbones
Sheep worried
Lycanthropes
kill life
night and light
denied
blue hedgehog.
Been a hard day’s night
Found my bollocks in my gob…
You fill in the rest
Enoch smoothed mum’s
scrawny brow with
the buttercup
‘Flamboyance, flamboyance…’
Her favourite word:
He whispered it.
She sleeps
He takes the tray
End of day
it’s a new dawn
on a new day
and i’m feeling
wood
Overwhelming surge
Wottaboutastoryday
Anna Livia
palpable sea change
calypso ipso facto
red rum chronicles
…aside from scrub
scatted Street Legal,
flew solo around
the warm grey upstairs
spreading love
and affection with
my every breath.
I had a pony:
its name was Lucifer…
Show on road? No…
Isolated blizzard,
hail, frog rain, bubonic plague, GPI,
These and sundry vilenesses
prevent Lifter Finger & Hans Turn
Fulfilling promises of gardening.
A pluperfect spring morning
wasteland of historic neglect
disgrace my spiffing gaze.
The road to oblivion is paved
with claptrap and obliquy.
Nothing comes of nothing
never…
Feeling lucky, mucky, clucky?
Spike the Curate’s eggs.
Wind’s dropped, termite respite;
north-westerly’s will freeze
your bollox off.
No vest for the whack-ed.
Fools down tools
play pooh-sticks in the urinal,
paper boats float upstream
(a blocked drain in Sao Paulo).
More murky murk
Mufti wades through grey
Morning Match of Day
No blocked beds
Must scrub up
Ready for Theatre
