Cleaned up as
best I wanted,
feeling slumpish,
taddish offish.
Make a wishlist!
Worst it can do
is not come true
if you’re careful.
The glums are dripping,
grumbling swamp gobs.
I have just done
more this morning
than all weekend.
Ghost revealed his hairy hand,
trimmed his balded pate,
gave himself the willies,
curled up before liars on telly,
waiting on next second wind
to fumigate the fuggers.
Met
The Jazz Singer
On foot:
Original
Talkie
Walkie
Al Jolson Sings Again
chilling on a Friday night,
leaning,
preening
running down an empty street,
blindfold,
screaming
waiting by a waterfall,
fearless,
dreaming
standing in the summer sun,
precious,
beaming
ethereal sight
companionable silence
day gives thanks to night
Spuds on, oven off.
Daily Gerontius with Olive Spadeface.
Leaves are hard to draw when you’re crap.
Two bags of Walker’s previously salted & some savoury balls of
Obscure provenance.
It’s a rap trap, Baby – & you been tort.
That’s me in the sauna, losing my spaghetti.
Blob and Mutt.
They of the far-famed gut
Jellyroll Morpeth.
Son of that sod: Maximillian Swell.
Cast of Godsends, back from the groove.
Loosely hanging, cockless in Dawlish
waiting for a brain. Feeling Vera’s
braiding Himmler’s genes. One. One. One.
Golf girl plumb potty
flipped clean absent trolley
on treacherous pin
The wealth of notions,
manifold
nano-agues
quelled by herbal
detonators;
vigilant magpie,
looking up for it
like a ska band cover;
gathering storm clouds
from the unfair,
violet west:
all of these
and more
by invasion
define my musing,
trip me up
as I oil up
readying
for slippery,
deeps matters of state.
Excuses whisper
it is said on the
weather
it is said.
I collapse in
Turquoise slop,
trying to remember
What
these excuses were…
All power to the imagination!
Perspicacity:
When push
came to shove.
A new thousand Fear Reich.
Open vista #9 – Closed for reparations.
Glass Onion luminaries stare at ship’s decanter:
Sense data, Alma Mater,
Seed potato incinerator:
Sub-geranium angstrom tunes.
New era music:
Jerry Lee Lewis…
scatty playful stuff
re-upholstered Chesterfield
smell of damp camphor
we gathered round to listen
to desert island dusk’s waves
yet another
clam-bake
funday
a diddle-dee-dum day
a sufficiency of sun day
a my god what have I done day;
subsequently,
red raw
Bum Day
Grimbeau 