Stumbled into the bar
Managed to keep my balance
What am I doing?
In drunken mirrors
Familiar drunken face
Absurdly jowled fat dead eyes
Arms flailing at a nearly chair
A fall and chuckle
Room spinning heart emptied
Brief sheer fucking bliss
Then no more till tomorrow
Deep in my cups
Early this morning
Singing along with
the blue suede news
I experienced a
mind blowing feeling
That I was more like
Philip Larkin than Ted Hughes
observe this shadow,
up there before me,
chasing my shadow,
shadow chase me,
hide me a shadow,
inside a shadow,
shadow in me
Somedays…
YouknowhatImean?
It just do not feel right
Do it?
There aint no available
Groove convenient
Gladiolus
*
No!
It just will not do at all
Microwaved spaghetti balls
This carpet smells of nose
God Almighty! Rose
Has run off with the
Thermidore times
I am of
bombed attained:
brained.
Still
Yet tranquil in
~
an ‘ised’ sense.
Spilt some juice &
cooked the goose
as it screamed ‘Truce!’
~
I twisted harder on its slippery neck
and sliming ugly yellow duckbill snout.
~
Time passes water hole,
drains away in abyss,
glockal grockles gobble,
a sprinkbok eats a puma,
a dragon eats a lion,
a cockerel eats a wallaby.
~
Surrealistic zoo of garish glib product placement,
slick as a pornographic fuck,
a rolling ruck of muck vapid fuckology.
~
My twisted mind contorts,
evaporates zilch and halitosis.
The game’s still on,
Go have a gander at the score.
Something one to something four.
A Sunday Afternoon.
Cooked thick smoked bacon
and garlic mushrooms
on a rusted griddle
with just the one scallion,
(the others have prior
set engagements with capered salmon),
it was taken dry but tasty,
(a dollop of crème fresh perhaps?)
Although it must be said,
when crunched and mouthed
it oozed out buttered garlic wonders
~
After this bombshell of succulent luxus
I callously shaved
and swept up the detritus
on the soiled titanium floor.
Some Rugby came on,
then the sun came out.
A crow happened in
and we talked at length
about Oktober Snow
Tooth-Hurtyish,
twinkling casually on
the blackened ovaries:
bleck and wite unite
and fight in equaliser dreams;
might have beens, should have beens,
mass in your strangulated,
nutritionless mind,
in your dreams like somewhere safe,
nuzzling down,
cuddling up in green mossy pot,
snug as a bug in a rug.
From Our Home Correspondent.
Cherooted to the spot,
overshadowed
by some tree made giant
by Oktober suns low chariot,
this crisp Oktober noontime hour
in frosted sharp clear air.
*
Gentlemen wash & change,
Do not shave till sundown,
The flavour of the day –
crude coarse heretical cripple.
And if it’s out its wrap up warm,
three thick layers, thick socks,
smart black gloves and torn bandana.
To go where, where to go?
Just out. That’s all. Just Out.
*
Come, task me a challenge,
throw down a gauntlet
& I’ll throw my old
straw hat in the ring,
& should I fail I’ll
eat the bugger up,
and if I don’t you will
The game’s afoot.
I jumped
I’m jumping
Apple scrumping
Four foot something
Eight foot tree
Climb up
I’m climbing
Grappling panting
Grab that big one
It fell
I’m falling
In hot pursuit
Forbidden fruit
Parachute
Once upon a time
there were no happy endings
so we made some up
Grimbeau 