One finds me today
hanging from the ceiling wrapped
up in a blue sheet,
fearing parachute failure,
all tied up in knots
being sound of mindful
trying to unravel travel
fresh direction for a camel:
Laundromatica?
Certain factica
They just got me more sciatica
Funny urge
Trying to put down right words
Weird mesmeric vow
Golden sunlit bough
manic squirrels hoarding nouns
snuffling snorting truffle hounds
helicopter thumps
take another slump
sleuthing dark no-man’s
landed skulking quarry
Nightshade glade blue-green
grey tourquoise skies
low fast smoke cloud wafts
a mango rim october dawn
sly yellows exposed.
Thursday.
The weekend looks quiet,
walk the dog,
eat the fridge,
frugal rations,
no rugby.
A turning point in the year.
Shaky week bright chill bleak.
Stark relief conceals a brutal truth.
Situation abnormal
A world turned downside up.
~
Soon the birds must migrate
for warmer winter climes
so wrap up warm & watch your back.
The forces of darkness may soon attack.
~
Nuts gathered in May
Soon will have their day.
Timid earth coyly wobbles.
Gives up alms seas of troubles.
~
And by reposing, rends them null.
Mulligrubs with mean demeanours wrack the wind.
Gripes stab shrieks and guillemots.
Shags lie wrecked and heaped in frozen sea suds.
~
Shitbag Blues renewed,
a poor city of pride,
yet another day denied
from the mouths of babes
well-rehearsed sucklings,
baying for their care,
screaming out for love
which was never there
and they know never will be
when they carry on like that
Heading upon three daylight,
Seems as dry as three nightlight.
Them crows sat rigid in sighing twilight.
Me, stuck fretting again
Waiting for the wheelwright.
~
‘Your universal joint’s gone west,
its serious, I’ll do my best.’ He frowned.
The tension is killing me
so I kick it back hard in the nuts.
It bolts.
You could not see its heels for dust.
‘I’ve cracked it!’ groaned the wheelwright straightening up.
‘You had pre-stressed oil: now you ain’t.’
I danced with joy, it started raining.
I only know the rain dance.
~
After the success of death
The Death of a Salesman
Hollywood beckons Arthur
To take a view from the bridge
Marry a misfit
Sport big screen glasses
Open necked turkey thin man
Playing black crucible spoons
A legend in someone’s lunchtime
Early lunch, no breakfast today.
Liver and bacon,
opaque oil wet onions,
a small wedge of pear,
and the bloody celts
all over the telly:
golden smelly barbars,
firewheels of dire consequence,
cold spaghetti carbonara,
topped off with the chief kulak’s scalp.
Peaches!
Going for a swim under the ice,
feeling the brill krill electrify my skin
in vast passing shoals.
My life as a camera
Warm, nose running, cold, copious
In black hoody enveloped,
liver & bacon,
apples and pears,
red, red wine.
~
Eight o’clock rock.
Tissue time, issue time.
Watch telly, last night’s telly, the good stuff
I missed after hiding from Crimewatch,
after liver and bacon,
apples and pears,
liver and bacon,
apples and pears.
Red, red wine
~
This morning’s been cosy,
snug and comfortably dumb.
The news is the news of the news.
Immodium is the message.
Red, red wine
before liver and bacon,
apples and pears.
~
Took me some fizzy codeine
to quell the enema insurrection.
Quarter past nine and nobody’s stirring.
A cold, clear Tuesday, the thirteenth day of Oktober,
two thousand and fifteen years since
liver and bacon
apples and pears
red, red wine
~
My needs today are simply defined,
a pack of tobacco & a feed of red wine.
Liver and bacon, apples and pears.
That’ll suffice for now, Mr Gingerman.
Sufficient unto the day, the evil thereof.
Then the rest is herstory.
Got so out of it she ceased to exist.
After liver and bacon
Apples and pears
Red, redwine
It grows early in a late way,
Hey Punk! Which key is this one in?
Silent system slows
waiting breathless pace
bathing in near distant running water,
Kissinger was (naturally, of course naïve)
See that baroque Grand Design by the Stubbs?
Somehow falsely vacuous, one felt.
The next book is called The Next Book,
They grouped to sing soft
Sardonic arraignments,
Soused in lilac wine.
Grimbeau 