The Waistband!
I am trousers
I am rolled
because my occupant is old
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I am trousers
I am rolled
because my occupant is old
Children are silly,
So Jack solemnly told me
Sat on a graffiti rock
Chin plinthed on six year old wrist,
That’s why grown-ups just get pissed
Shaved! Shaved!
I’ve got shaved
Shaven purple billiard ball
Big baby’s pink bum
Smooth as smoothness is
Sheer unadulterated bliss
Kiss, kiss, kiss
Kiss this!
Mired in the mud
tangled up in weed and briar
groping about in
a wood full of trees
twisting the night away
knotted in a sheet
covered in cold sweat
busting for a piss
waiting for the sun
to get me out this
Sucked sponge bone dry
Wilderbeast’s jawbone
Dry horse latitudes
Angels seek refuge
Gloating fears & loathings
Condemn another
Slice of chance to death
After buggery and mild pinky-purple thwelts
Comes spillage dribbling
Dripping on my spank new Woolworth’s pumps
‘Where’s me dribblerag?
Are you away with Spalpeen?’
My lost and virgin childhood arse
Was bleeding from my ah-ah hole
Which was personal to me
And the rest of us poor sods
Getting what I’m getting at?
Puggled muddled fugged
So beguines respirate deep
Lush capacious yawns
Turn wishful thinking
Non-imaginary slumber
So Nightdream drops off
As daydream takes over
Wild pure violet
Mocks chaotic undergrowth
Softens jaded knaves
Makes blind rambling fools
Cease galloping delusion
Iron blue rimes super
elegantine spiral
crook limelight
finest lime, finest lime
go observe! yes, you!
carouse saker falcons
lick orgiastic chug:
bicycle parking’s provided
leaden burden sighs
too overly familiar
onerous chatterbox
clueless lingering
playing at bewildering
fingering moonscape scar tissue
a farce of threadbare
sackclothed habit
starts me up from
overwhelming reverie
Grimbeau 