Slow going, going slow, sigh blue, going round
Blow a bubble, paraffin and monocle, pursed lipstick lip
Bigger, jelly heavy bubble, floppy.
Heavy air: barometer finger low, rain and fruit
Plop!
On the rug, spectral petrol wobbles, see through puff-ball
Houses cypress frond
Watch, watch and…
Pop!
Blow another?
Laters
Let us pause for smoke and prayer…
Teeming sardines in the Arab Sea
A billion starlings over the Fens
Sensing food and predator.
Poor old religion gets another lambast
Courtesy of these withered digits
Hens in the back are revealed as angels,
a blackbird coyly juggles rats
Louche, pleasant, twisted opiate dreams.
The bayou shoulders slow magnolia
Grits for slow, big, muddy river that quivers
Magnificent regardful like a python
Weighing up the yearly weenie
…in the Jacuzzi of good and evil
Bleak expectations!
Ready yourself for the big surprise:
There is no spinach.
Liverpudlians go shopping on the wireless.
The light dims.
Cheer up!
It’s not the end of the world.
Says who?
Am I talking to me?
No, thank Gawd…
just the voices in my head.
We sit and wait and write.
What is there to do?
Exercise, sleep, leisure:
the high life, or what?
Friday afternoon, the excitement of the weekend starts to build,
the thrill of the familiar, a chance of the known unknown.
Minor risk-taking, for me nowadays, is perhaps a late film.
I do not drink at home these days and I never go out at all.
There are some chicken thighs that need something doing to them, and spuds.
Hope there is spinach and rashers. Don’t fancy another Ruby Murray.