I run things over in my head
Take the right option
At the top of the stairwell
Sallow mango tigers burn
Flagrant tongues lick upwards
Melting toy balloons drop fire
Withered moulded plastic chairs
Empty overnight
Circus macabre reseeding corn
Shriek to no avail
Just you and me then
Two faces pressed on flax
Punchy—
Can’t see straight
contorted by parallax
panoptical contusions
other big words like turd
In a dream I spoke with the Cyprus-born,
And said to her,
“Mother of beauty, mother of joy,
Why hast thou given to men
“This thing called love, like the ache of a wound
In beauty’s side,
To burn and throb and be quelled for an hour
And never wholly depart?”
And the daughter of Cyprus said to me,
“Child of the earth,
Behold, all things are born and attain,
But only as they desire,—
As luck would have it
the goddess of love pitched up
out of the cerulean
blue earthenware amphora
I grabbed the opportunity to inquire—what’s gives
with the aching
burning throb in the
little toe on my left foot,
She had a look & said
Look here manchild, desire’s in there
pulling the strings
Believe me.
Take my word for it,
I really do know about these things.
Desire, huh? I just thought it was
a hen’s eye corn
giving me the run around
“The sun that is strong, the gods that are wise,
The loving heart,
Deeds and knowledge and beauty and joy,—
But before all else was desire.”
glossy plump white milking legs go on downstream forever young : at heart hobnobbing hoc polloi are as good as it gets mate forever young : a tart fire eaters are merely clandestine salamanders for ever young etat
Those feet are not mine
Not my feet for sure
Are they your feet?
Yours sincerely’s
Or someone else’s
hand me downs
fingers fish out oven chips
mushrooms skirmish aubergine
berserkers stroke fat scallions
moonwalking in the moonlight
profound wart heretical rave
from the crouton to the grave
—we will make you comfy
Humphrey enjoys tenderness
Nectar and ambrosia
In manageable portions
I am an ear—
one of a pair, two of a kind,
three of an
afternoon…
Desecration time tolls out
Rental floss and toothpaste, gargling
wrong civilisation displaced in them their parts,
go sit still in the sun & absorb some rays of golden naff
Truth is
Got stuck thrusting by the window indisposed to expose caressing frozen post sacrums
— you are only here twice so best crack on with it.
Returned from astonishment unwound down,
a camembert electric cuckoo clock dripped nine,
so much for your handiwork
From the cradle to the groove exult lost country wiles
like ice cream ate with sabres
or playing twister as they buried the foetus in the slurry
One to three for five
sick seminate won two tree
four fife stick heavens gate sundown
treefall light stick elevate
‘Wink what yon plumtree can do for you
Wink what you can do for yon Plumtree’
Betterer is the air here!
Some verve & vivaciousness
as I gaze from a foreign window—
silent movies, incoherent builders mumble
argue banter opine about methodologies
sufficient unto the day
None of it my business
A warrant officer tidies up the mess
Dead leaves and upturned beer crates
Songs! Instant constipation
Sit down the throne is free
Sophisticated cheats reviled by Nazi death squads
Ready for Walkies
Beg for euthanasia!
Rock back shut your eyes— fifty knee bends feel the burn
Opiated eyeballs, hanging mouth, distraught neck tendons, final breath
Achilles’ heel got him in the end
Cold and black as ice
Inside a pornographer’s Trossachs
Poetry minus Poet scorns
Bodacious gaudy twats
Ghosts wear blue trousers
Beware loose chippings overhead
Manna from heaven
Hailstones batter silly hat
Brass rubbing grass cutting
Roofless abbey ruins
Toothless rabbi gurns hard
Through holes in wailing kerns
It’s in here somewhere
I feel it in your cheekbones
The longest day finds Paddy checking the truck oil, the twin tub acting out on the kitchen floor, its heat brittle waste tube squirting in the bauxite sink.
The longest day finds too many firsts, too many thirds, too many seconds. The customer is always right and probably white proving cake and eating it
The longest day finds scuffed cultural elbows saying never in our day. This is their day: the longest day of the year, the longest day of their lives so far.
When they stood them up to scrub them down and chided them for whimpering in the draughty corridor for wanting a wee wee.
It is just a numbers game and yours is up. Come in number eighty-seven your time has come. For godsakes give her a pot to piss in.
The longest day sees larks ascending on the Sussex downs and Rafe Vaughn Williams packing his valise for a dirty weekend in Peterborough, the Posh
The longest day they call it for some ludicrous reason. The Germans bombed the land registry there during the war. That’s why no one knows where they belong anymore.
Grimbeau 