Last time I spoke with Chas
You know what you love?
He asked
slow & low
Like Wilson to Shane
Taking in the Globe Livery
rustling my purpose built
beige safari suit
silence broke out till
Hesitatingly, I said
‘Fire!’
So we drank a toast
To Father, son, and
Holy Ghost & felt
a shedload better
Just earlier,
Tomorrow
Bavid Dutine,
Decal smoother,
Said this to
unto me…
You are nearly a mural
Outrage!
Methunk
Of course,
I hit him with a passing Zucchini
& asked him:
Is this really any way to buy
Gas?
I’m 54 years old now and the critics say
My stuff is getting sicker than ever.
As I often explain to the half-starved wretch
Who does most of my writing
Do not eat the stuff, just chew it over and
And spit it out.
The irregular beatings help sometimes, but the diet of
Wild Turkey and rabid Milfs are gobbling him
Up apace. Like the critics, they swipe the chintz curtains
For their condos.
Still life in the slum is regular now I got the pacemaker
(you can pick one up pretty cheap since the Diamond
League finished).
What is better than a BLT? I hear you ask.
Two.
Grimbeau 