Mauden – Nite Male Rubba Dub.
Heads up, there – A Riviera!
No Pushy-Pushing Now.
Duck the Punches! No pulling mind.
Here comes delight.
Da-da-da-dumdum.
Sing a Song of Songs sung Blue.
From Synapse to Prolapse:
A Curt History of Rapture.
Psychosyllables care of Dr. Egg;
tosh-tish-tosh;
plinketyppyplonk.
Bad reviews, bad previews –
Bumful of bad bananas for the drop.
Plop.
Hanging is ungood for the hangee.
Flash-flesh-flush.
Press & Whoosh: all dunned.
Mr. Turd says,
‘Now wish your wands!’
Now.
Go think yourself as water,
as liquid water under ice,
uninstilled.
Like this: churning, filling, spilling, welling,
willing, milling. Flossing.
Morris Flossing.
Big chews and tobacco spats.
A la mode: Discommode.
The Carps Barp.
Wild notes:
A bit of a whopper!
Had to get these down before I got stuck
cheroooted to the table.
Thanks to Danny Baker.
Warmed my butt and sacrum
with the oat and lavender bags
flicked through the morning stations for
distraction,
inspiration,
information –
in short, company.
Other voices.
Came across the Danny Baker Show,
a show I like and always forget to listen to
I am so bogged down in my listening ways.
The item was about Greenland’s timezone-less centre;
how they called it Greenland because Vikings
wanted to deter invaders from their cherished Iceland;
another item mentioned ‘thundersnow’
and I was away. Up for it, writing came first
and I made some jots:
These are they.
Saturday mornings Punk Odyssey
Drongo pomes dialogue.
The Vanmitzvah;
little feral red van
becomes
big red van/bus does
not stop at my gate.
Passed by a boy: came back a man.
Returned, emerged.
Apple in a football ground.
Thundersnow on a lowlight