Vigil
Fuck me, afternoon choir!
Get out and get at it.
Wait…yes, an
Easternwind.
Just clout on.
Naked:
To the truth exposed!
Catch your death
Outside in that.
Stay in, smoke tabs,
keep warm and safe
from the Garden
Midnights.
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Tag: Journal
April 16, 2014
Smoker’s Neck
Silence breeds lunchtime.
Tell tale signs:
Blue teeth,
Buboes,
Trombones
fetid Mind-Wort
Hyacynthia…
Up in Maine,
we bathe in Clover,
not Butter.
April 16, 2014
Roadrunner
Radio Gone,
auto cut-off.
In the Smoke:
Big Matisse
Jazz Gig.
Scissor Sisters
to preside?
Sounds on the Staircase.
Voices without faces.
Cup in the Galley.
Prospect of Coffee
and Perfidy.
April 15, 2014
Compost Heapos
Great Allotments of Albion yield up
sweet pea & radish.
The bearded mates look maddish
and lose well
the first challenge, woody, blemished
offerings get scant consideration from the judge,
old before his time, made over for the telly.
A sex god with a perverse
glint in his eyes
when he says ‘the last thing we want to see
is a drooping sweet pea.’
He knows, you know
April 15, 2014
Huguenot Vows
Bake
spuds, move rainbow, smote bowels, cower
shower.
Get out of this space: mace.
Downside up
outside handcuffs.
Get out of this space:
face.
Run and run, hurt and hide, get out of this
space:
race.
Tulane, hold back! Bivouac, lamb Ada.
Get out of this space: chase.
Chantilly, paper, shoe. Confiscate your…
Get out of this space:
April 15, 2014
The Search
Silent
Angelus:
car noise,
rodeo,
stampede!
Five wide virgins
Still nowt doing
April 14, 2014
Trout Rainbow
Midday blooms
in passing cloud,
Brrghhh.
Turn up heat.
It is
Garlic bread still
under grill.
Cheerful tunes
trill ditties,
twee baroque
flute and warble
while We
observe the fig tree
perspicaciously.
April 12, 2014
Please Release You
Let us cry together and laugh alone,
change is as good as a rest, we all say.
I wish we could come up with something new
from time to time, or just start crying,
go to bed, make an early night of it.
Then I could laugh myself to sleep again.
April 12, 2014
The Dream Workshop
Take the air, the quack
said and so we
caught the only sun,
the rest have weekends off,
shining on the righteous
who know who they are,
or have been, or keep trying.
The unlucky ones,
the unrighteous rump,
get no sun,
they know who they are too,
and can’t or don’t want to
do anything about it.
At night they become the majority,
there are just a few
righteous burning most nights,
but they cast no shadow then,
they are the ones
dreaming the same dream
on that special night.
A night that everyone has sometime,
whether they deserve it or not.
A dream like this.
April 11, 2014
Naps
So slept,
heavy warm
lush
day sleep,
like a child
to bed
in daylight
to wake
in daylight
an eyeblink
then
an eyerest
now
Grimbeau 