Orifamme burst open dawn canopy back of horse chestnut plantation on the cusp of five-thirty.
opposite this old place, the beige house was dark red and outside here the border hedge
a defiant pea green the like of which you have never seen before.
After tablet medication, you mulled over the holy thought and avian tweet of the day before
all things bright and beautiful from the guest Rev Livermore's finest work
got sullied by the sleazy apocalyptic six o'clock news
As you drank up your coffee you took in the morning congress of robin, pigeon , and sparrow on the
bread strewn table and it raised a smile. Then it was back to the pneumatic bed for daybreak dreams.
You woke to Wimmins Heure; hear small plastic bags are banned and amoral breast implanters from the
continent havebeen brought to book and must cough up substantial damages.
it amuses you when a tory lady gets berated by fiery emma's cross questions suggest mealy-mouthedness.
you are still constipated but well read up on derrida getting busted on his
trip to prague in the early seventies (the grounds for his mission to deconstruct the usa?)
as ever your words are not flowing freely; has your twitter inactive account been corrupted?
I sincerely hope so.
You returned bearing only a keen clean sentience of an inner voice previously unheard thus impossible to speak of in slick descriptive narratives; a new voice slushing pumping ironic pellucid entropic morphemes only too willing to give way when you enter unannounced in the tranquil hours unimpaired by time’s incessant must be’s;
some say self-compassion works both ways; they say it’s good to talk to invisible friends and to say i worry about you a lot and know they will never understand and will freak out the same way too when they see no way out but up; but here in the lonely cenarial world there is just the remnants of the oleaginous rip of dreamtime in the eventless shires.
You peruse five-line entries, enforce four-line whips, smooth the cat o’nine nails, rhyme barren wombs with catacombs, eat catamites in the dolomites, get ultrasonic with catatonics–not my kind of cruise ship this–the SS Sadist. Still whatever floats your boat at these prices is that which don’t disturb the horsiest riding rough shod over crippling waves and learning to ignore the gentle thud of plaintive houris hitting patinated sackbuts; always keeping an eye open for the main chance mindset to make a run for it across the open border washed up by all waters only to find one finds occupation of the crease involves focussed awareness to achieve the desired outcomes:
Celtic knots do my wee head in (think upside the box); midday shakedown, let the blood flow in damson rivers of chicken livers; overlook five lie whip transgression; respect the rules in order to break them, just play the bloody game for once. Abide by the unwritten law of oblique estrangement during storm lashed nights, caress thunder and lightning from the north and come sunny morn, when no milk’s delivered, draw lurid conclusions– twist metal, befuddle puddles, ravage hats distressed by no real vision to speak of; respect a sloth unprovoked to rise in spite of prophecy. Read some myth for illumination. Shower or Scuba for kicks. Bear in mind a nose pegs trumps lemon air freshener. Hide corruption in a sock. Maintain standards by increasingly lowering. Nowt gets done if you stay abed. End of broadside…Ninety minutes that transformed your ustulated toe and brought disaster to a flawed grandmaster who failed to understand what was under his strawberry nose. Seasonal greetings from the frozen seas of Ross stranded up an endless glacier where we were only too aware the horses shall be sacrificed for some greater good called lunch…
NINE is eight found wanting stale orchids splutter pure airways clog up overnight no second breath come first gasper justice thirsts as curfew darkness drains March makes aether culprit,
Flirty snide barbs rib and niggle vindictive zests defy belief --when will words fall petal free? consult yond inner demon seed that insufferable bore that force feeds you breast fed in orphic bubbles drives me wild eyed to distraction shot drops me like a polar bear found seething raging blowing sliced through by sabre sleet marooned out on a dodgy asphalt shoulder starving
Only got so far that they could fake my name before the pants were pulled down and the sacraments began blurted it out in dribbles and spits left little old me in a market town alley who would have thought it would happen here over here of all places
1 Worsted, Tweed, Galician calicos, reamed cotton screed, diaphanous silks, dour, coarse linens, Chinese screen tableaux of mislaid epochs, safe and unsafe tapestries, sad stacked in the old mead hall, the conference centre, the hubristic hub of soft arrogance now Withered
2 The once sure folk have fled, melted and mutated, The meek ones headed for the hills, they crouch and mooch grumpy, sucking stale breadsticks in their holes, the old caves and calcified barrows. The diehards fought foolhardy rear-guard actions – smouldering stockyard bone stooks stand pyrrhic Edifice
With the Labyrinthines gone away, nature is displeased, Ever abhorrent of void it convenes Bison, heck, leopard, eel and titmouse, Louse, curlew, ptarmigan, to settle a modus of repair. They soon conclude the obvious: You are only as good as your last, worsted Algorythm _
1 Worsted, Tweed, Galician calicos, reamed cotton screed, diaphanous silks, dour, coarse linens, Chinese screen tableaux of mislaid epochs, safe and unsafe tapestries, sad stacked in the old mead hall, the conference centre, the hubristic hub of soft arrogance now Abandoned.
2 The once sure folk have fled, melted or mutated, The meek ones headed for the hills, where they crouch and mooch, sucking on stale breadsticks in their shell holes, caves and calcified barrows. The diehards who fought foolhardy rear-guard actions – smoulder in stockyard bone stooks stand pyrrhic before the Sacrifice
With the Labyrinthines gone away, nature is displeased, Ever abhorrent of void it convenes Bison, heck, leopard, eel and titmouse, Louse, curlew, ptarmigan, to settle a modus of repair. They soon conclude the obvious: You are only as good as your last, worst Aberration _
Below a bleak zoo on an inhibited earth where a bawd of directors calls the shots where the whitehouse turns to sickhouse and cottage hospitals to cheap hotels Sent an encrypted message to Trudi eavesdropped by earwigs who hang fire on the scrupulous order to make picture houses shut down as the Chessington Hippos wallow in deep pink shallows eavesdropped also by earwigs chomping shallow blue tomatoes