I saw her on my morning
The middle of her night
Blocking the toilet in
Hospital light
I will see her later on
On her morning
And we will argue
about fuck all
This evening in the middle
Of her day
The washing machine will
Stop me from napping
We will eat supper for lunch
And I will dream of
Thermo-Nuclear War
Under
the beach
Hidden
Gold
‘O’er them dunes,
Cap’n Mudd!’
Says Mrs Hands.
‘…just go left at the war mines,
right at the shipwreck,
and,
Bob’s yer Uncle
It’s just there
opposite Aldi.’
…
Put on, or should it be, donned
John’s bonce on the hob.
Brain versus brawn
is a no-brainer.
Meanwhile…
after a lean while
Herod buys bonking time,
hides it in his Wish Urn
The sheer, brazen
Barbaric
Sauce of the fellow!
‘Chopsy prophet.
Salome’s mum
was a right one
too…’
…
Folkestone Ferry
grounded
On Golden Beach.
Lemmings swarm
Ferreting about.
Dredgers look on.
Dormant
In easy, idle, calm.
…
Just waiting
for the
Ebb to Flow
Uphill
07:33
An Elegy:
Wetland and Fen!
Not bad.
It is a good
stretch of the legs:
Walking the Dog.
Taking and Waking
In sights &
sounds.
Stribbling,
stroodling,
straddling
stream and hurdle,
mending your feet,
watching your step.
Then
with a clear head:
Measuring up
room up for size,
first thing,
sugar soap scrub down,
then
paint it with words and birds,
oddities,
follies, bric-a-brac, décor…
sigh & Smoke
Coffee & shower now?
Finish up here first.
Catch a bit of news.
Take in the daylight,
switch off the nightlife.