And so it was below
to early evening telly
and braindeath,
the curtains are drawn,
the room ill lit
by an old standard lamp:
grey ochre and stale air.
Wild Arabia, Wild China, Wild West Wind…
Pain, Pus, and Poison.
Appetite lost.
Nearly out of smokes.
A bag of ready salted does.
I hang on watching people talking about art:
what’s on, what’s good, what’s what,
and lay down my sword
Til tomorrow
Align your fears,
prick up your ears,
allay your tears.
Here, have some
iconic transparency,
a few homeless truths.
Always rent yourself a burglar when you get a flat.
Take two lifetimes,
a croissant,
and a ‘Kiss Me Quick’ cat.
Bury your knee at wounded heart,
go marry a buffet saint.
nigella’s got black eyes
Mary Berry aint.
I could’ve slept all night
I
Cudave schleppt
All night…&
Stillav’schlept summore
I
Kudda did
Sumthings
Eye’ve
Nefferdun
Bevor….
I’ll never know wot made it so
Xcitin’
Wen allat wonce my art
Took flite
I
Ownly no that shee
Began two dance wivced
Me
I
Cuddadanssed
Darnstdarnsed
Allnite.
Grabbed a bite and had my pills,
found a lorry on the doorstep.
It’s enough to make you sleep
on the underside of the sheet.
Three gifts day, so where are wise guys?
Far away in the Levant, gassed,
Scourged, headless – left for dead.
As for us damned refugees,
Godforsaken orphans
of storms, beast housed: Waiters.
Modest chrome silver drooped lamp,
a huge, grey gym ball and the rest
of the detritus of dead Yule:
dead skin flakes, crumb strewn, smoke dust
coats the mats, the bedding, and
wheelchairs – a seat where mites scoff
Then explode, overfull on the
rich pickings. Intangibly sensed
accummulated filth, fired by
the chill draught of blasting wind
Here a dog ventures out into
the dark aftermath of the
nights storm and the place blows-in…
Eusebio is extinct, died off yesterday.
Sidelight set on sill. Time is a herb.
Subscribe: Free Calendar! A year in Sing-Sing.
Habeas corpus or what? Amnesty.
Ethical gift to salve the conscious conscience.
Place on cardboard coffee table to catch
the eyes of passers-by, nod frownfully
in silent solace, go wild ape and shout:
‘Owzat!’
Then, from red animate to grey plausible go
do your best sepulchral Arlott:
‘Calendar caught Eye bowled Jaffa.’
Mortality spooned high and heaped:
thick cold blisters, ampule-like.
Reason’s varicose vanity disgorges
on cheap wall-to-wall.
No pulse.
It was all in vein,
nano hulks flap brief resistance
unflapped flow proceeds.
Thumb pressure,
white nailed myopic frogman.
Sleep above the waves.
Beneath the wined ark corpuscles
All them short lives.
Napalm funburst sunset, oilslick bitter tears
Give way to pork smells, rumbaba, cockatoos
Squawk, rustles of last gasp, reeling tigers,
plangent oozing, floating, clades and phylums
make touching, silken, floating islands.
What is to do today, to what end?
Option plop is number one.
Option fresh coffee is an ambition.
Option edit does me credit.
Other options are optional.
Rabbits and Guinea fowl
Smiley too will play a part.
Frost becomes Frimaire
Trying too hard; put simply,
can’t decide where to start.
As you mean to go on?
As good as
anywhere.
So here we
are again.
The square one.
A saying that comes from
Radio
so that the
listener
could follow on a grid
in the Radio Times.
But where was the square one?
The middle, the corners,
In the net?
Grimbeau 