Aint no rainfall
when she comes
Aint no torrents
any more
Aint no rainfall
when she comes
aint no back pain
when she comes
opening the door
~
Inoi
know ino
I no in
o I no now
I now no
~
Aint no moonshine
Then she’s gone
Fallen on the shore
Evensong
Dripped
spent cartridge
kaleidoscope
compound vivid fractures
small perfect green shamrock
blossoms thrive oddly
the earth smells brown
~
Laud’s Book of Common Prayer
Chimes like drafty field mice
Checking out the winter lodging
~
Afterwards
By the round
Complexity
Profound squalid textures
Loom large acute strandscape
Suds weave osprey
The sea smells green
Big yellow sucker
preps the road surface.
Beans harvested.
Road resurfaced
smoother,
somehow slicker
on the eye
after rain swims.
On midsummer’s day
In nineteen seventy six
Acting goatishly
During the heatwave
We did a rain-dance
Little did we know
What would come to pass
As we rolled in dry dog pooh
On biscuit brown
municipal grass
It’s quarter past four…
The last machine is
Nearly done spinning
‘Beware of the hums’
The Ice-cream man Comet
Some shit by Mozart
The day’s getting grey
A white cabbage patch
Butterfly avoids
An insistent barrage
‘The hums are dumb, son’
The difference between inspiration and
desperation is concentration and…shit!
I always drift off when some dictator yaps…
You must choose twixt
enervation and determination,
incantation and renovation…fuck!
Now I’m real, real gone
Weeping crimson tree
faux desert forest : blue crap…
differentiation and elimination…shut up!
You and your nations!
You are my abomination…shit
Now I’m getting doctrination.
After skulling underwater
Tap toe trichology
Set and rinsed
Like biscuits
Already to bake
When I left my trousers
In your heart of hearts
I never expected
Knees as sharp as these
Grain is good as gold
vibrant consanguinity
enfeebles tyrants
flappy lead balloon
splashed down stomachish
plosh on frothy briny
gizzard gone rasping
saline runic rigid sprat
nitrogene swallow
camomile
It’s quarter to three
Green witch meantime
Just me and a near
Distant petrol lawnmower
A big lazy sun imputes
Soon golden autumn
Which draws to the end
this sad episode
So it’s one for my Baby
And one more for the Toad
Grimbeau 