Dobedobedo…monster of deception,
keeper of the tricks, yield to my oeuvre.
Eggs and interruption beckon,
Douched ruched taffeta kneepads;
the end is listless, granite dust dry sponges,
hard as cold toast, brieze block lites whey
like cranberries in wensleydale – yuk!
Auto-dramaturgy allergy attack.
DNP (for it is):
Quickly! The screeds are coming for dinner!
Elfden
Chumpden
Chookslayer
writhes about
In fresh turdies,
guffawing tiglets,
splurging glurb,
drooging knucklers,
whenxe
a seizure to indulgest
a zit of DIY Greco-Roman
unter den perchway
to sepulchritude.
‘Is this the way
to get a mush kiss,
standing here still
pulling my penis?’ He snoods
toothe fladgey gorlslush
whooob gawbs a goober, hollowring:
‘Ingorge anti-intoxicants for it
forthwith & pulverise the amoeba-3
out of the armadillo, Pillow!’
Reggie enraged, Pelvis, cakestand Pioneering joinery… all is envy all is bendy. Mortal coma fruitbat spreads fruitlice, fine toothed comb, fine tooth comb. A flux on all your mouses! …chikken scurry, funny money, the Emile Zola Pianola
Another bitty night, the wind’s to blame,
the Ham, the game, the Cheese, they all took part,
but did not do what you did, Maria…
You sly one, you twisted, silent, deadly sister
Due to your emission, I will suffer
endless tumult and derision and you will
live to lie in pastures new as if butter did not melt
Guts are a bit choppy, the wind’s to blame
I explain to the assembled throng who
Conclude it was me, not you who caused the pong
Now, simpled, feeling a complicit tool
You play it Cool, queen the art of cool,
woman’s grudge is women’s definition,
Powder your nose, pass the ammunition.
Morning, blowy,
took a crap, dog came down,
took a crap, had a nap.
That was that.
Seconds out.
Up again, honour bound,
only sound wind
blowing round,
that was earlier
when I was churlier.
better now,
curlier, burlier,
furrier, purrier…
Chronicles of an endgame
sour the day,
The last cormorant glides
home half-asleep.
The tapering headland not
faraway
Is blacker; the treachery still
indiscrete
I trail past the quiet, dark
caravan
Chest pounding with sorrow,
tried to walk
it off but
it don’t go.
That woe-begotten rotten vixen’s crushed this
bleeding heart.
On the rise, I make out the chirpy nightscene
Of Port Ithaca’s tourist
hostelries
Thronging poached obscene grockles
Python Lee Jacksons in a
broken dream.
In bleak, rocky gloaming
sunsettings.
A Has-been at
seventeen,
Slip slow my
Instamatic in my jacket pocket
And leg it
to the Admiral Benbow
Childhood’s true
Denouement
Calamares! Just stop this
punishment!
Onlooking makeshift beach
shanties say:
You polluter of paradise, repent
Your vile Ouzo hubris
I perish cold
And alone on this too early morning
Watch a little life pass by,
transient soul
Is floating about you, a dark
sponge gloating
At flaccid white Nordic
corpulence.
Soon the morning beautiful will bring
Bronzed, ideal,
muscular poseurs, chewing
Lotuses
laughing stage loud at the thing
Sat shivering in freezing cold Ionian bliss
Hungry harpies,
daring you to
steal a piss.
Why this photo?
1806, Boney
Napoleon
Jenaphobia
All possible
Have the cars
Stopped gobbling
Les Parisiennes
Not until three
Nothing starts then
Afternoons
Or mornings
When books are too long,
life is too short.
When books are too short,
life is too long.
droll nodes
brood
rude
colours:
pastel dragons
come from
melted crayon
puddles
sizzling bacon
takes the air,
makes it purr
like a pillow
we swallow
eating
our words
like gruel
Grimbeau 