Swift smoke streams bite grey wafts
and heavy laden, leaden clouds
rush on the blasting, frantic wind.
Stoic conifers and bare trees bend
not more pissing snow again
and unbend, weave, give and lean.
Time
&
I
are
warm, fed, filthy.
Clean up afternoon
about to commence…
Flood!
Gas! Gas?
An bumbling of Ecstasy
Gerald the duds!
I.e. –
extraneous clobber, tea-cloths,
spoons, spinakers
& various other
absorbent materials
must be procured!
-Water’s pissing out
the cunning light bulb…
All may perish in electric shocks!
*
After something of a flurry
(containing an ill-timed phone call
about a flat tyre outside a Service Station)
I eat ready salted crisps and listen
light-hearted
to ‘A Night of Bear Mountain’
by
What’s ‘is face (must Google that);
then,
with the dripping ceased,
I read about mixed bathing in Minehead,
Giggled modestly & boiled
a kettle for more old, new spuds,
As I smoked
chainlessly thinking
poached salmon, solitude,
garden peas and Otium…
Grimbeau 