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
Watch the gooks
on Pmq’s
and have pity
for the loos..
Bay mare breeder, electric ether, head crazed
by on goings, sore to touch, touchily.
Tetchy little englander brought down to size
Colour, gender of choice, within boundless
Law: The Right of Light.
Torches rally, burn the beast, cauterize the earth.
Escalation, destination desolation:
regard slow time; report the truth; received
communication distorts, parts words apart.
Depart!
Darwin’s social agents popped in for a peep,
Pick up old confetti, soaping soft,
the right boys to do a boy’s job. Inside
a cringe (a swallowed outburst still emits gas)
and a barbed stiletto of rebuke.
They and I are hamstrung by pace, them too
much, me too little. Who is piggy in the middle?
The I of the storm The individual…
The news is abroad, I wish it well on
its journey to ignorance, words are so cheap
They are Free
Act your age
Not your
Shoe size
What! I said
Two thousand
Five hundred
Millimetres
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
Grimbeau 