And so,
continue along this rutted path,
overgrown with tangled undergrowth,
wort & porphyry knots
rocket and the sea grass
entwines red berries
and battered hollow inclined stick
on this blighted Savannah of tatty leaves,
and leave them meshed & mashed
by decay and dew.
There is nothing:
somewhere.
The dishwasher churns
I stretches
And gurns
As a string quartet
Explodes.
Moonday starkens
A passer by
Passer was
Exhilarated
By sex
May, the failed suicide, is escorted
to her coiffeur for a ruffle & snip,
natters too.
She is weak of leg and mind and partakes
of unlethal foodstuffs; sausages and
bananas in anchovy sauce,
that kind of thing.
When she insults the trees they turn away
knowingly to whisper disapproval
to the breeze.
Sympathy is like gas,
and tears
a finite
commodity.
Prospect:
Anthracite unshined and dirt black,
Clogging every aperture,
Crevice,
And hole:
Unhosed for public consumption.
No sound or light to hear or see,
Just the wireless & Davy lamp:
Maid in Bangkok Sweatshop.
Half a house swap in Ithaca, Greece.
Escape this coal face;
Leave the pick & shovel:
Gerraway!
Yer Puggled.
Just for several months!
Then, back again:
Arsewisely.
You always bring your weather with you.
Me Too!
Everyhere you go there is a lot going on.
Same old, same old;
Except for the new stuff:
Off course.
Leaves in the
Wind:
Tinned
Bowsprit of Hal’s flagship,
salvaged, warped & carved
from a limb
of a blasted, reformed
Medieval oak in Chippenham,
Lies in silt,
To be encountered by
us divers:
Pearlfishing.
Philandering
Through flounder shoals,
amongst the groundswell Lumpen Cray and basking catfish,
Till,
Low on air
we ascend,
cautious and bendless,
to the sky blue
Gingham canopy.
Slow and sexy
The tablecloth
Is outspread.
Faraway in Chippenham a sparrow rests
And a worm dines;
The tablecloth is the same gingham
It is just the angles that are different.
Three oaken leaves woven
for the fallen.
Here,
Hal’s bowsprit once looked down.
The sparrow ate the worm,
Knowing
A Pal would replace it:
Heroically.
Tunes make you seethe more easily
Two score years this boat of love has been afloat
‘The Pink Sapphire’ that we claimed as ours
From the heart of a lotus flower endures
All seas & weathers,
Certain of this destination:
This Ruby port of call.
Line & Moon dancing through the years of joy & grief
Mates in tenderness and warmth;
The best rowers we have ever met!
Rosie & Charlie, from the old school yard at fourteen
To here & now, and next you ask
Why, to Florida & Mickey Mouse,
Still childhood sweethearts playing house.
Weigh more anchors on your voyage
And Love for as long as forever is.
I do not Ken what it is like to be
Dead:
Do you?
Really!
There’s a cannibal sun on the sky today!
Five and twenty Innkeepers evacuate themselves,
Public houses abandoned:sequestrated
By an oafish crowd of snotties.
Now, wankers only sup at the
Onanist’s Arms!
Grimbeau 