Dusk’s here (round half four),
falling to a soundtrack:
Jumpin’ Jive,
Cab Calloway.
1943
Cab?
Must be short for something.
All I can think of just now is
Cabellero
though I have no faith in it.
Surely, no-one would be called Cabin,
or Cable.
Not for a first name anyway.
Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stars!
It is Cable.
Spelt Cabell.
Something to do with cowbells?
Perhaps.
There we are.
Banged one out, as they say;
never mind who. They do.
Whomsoever this they is.
I do not know…
She fibbed.
And she knew that I knew too.
If you want to find out, like I do, call her at:
Pennsylvania 65000.
I can’t get through.
The reception is dreadful
in this carriage.
Perhaps I’ll try the caboose
after luncheon.
Weasel words spill out the chine
Mickey-taking sophists whisper
Sour nothings in the ear.
When water walks and sunshine showers
Blossom on sad earth
The chastised winter will concede
Ground to spring hastening
Blue dismembered times of mirth
Rustles rumble;
Murmurs gruff;
Whistles whet;
Bristle thistle…
A thrill frisson
flowers
like quicksilver
An hour fades
endeavour
slows to sluggish slog,
An idle creak,
And
Precious
little
celebration
Puke rebuke,
obscene repeat,
then retreat,
Tricornered
Here
music plays:
disjointed,
butchered,
an dispatched
Browse
pock marked pocket penguin
pictures
Traipse
Pendine’s Sands mortal,
Golden arrowhawks
.
Hold the knife that kissed Lucretia
one pearl morning in the garden
Taste
opal raindrops
on the counterpane.
When
the cap fits
Go and wear it well.
Precocious as a pre-fab sprout,
Faron Young plus thirty-three.
The hour: the one before the darkest,
Clock the dour, prudent, tourist jurist
loping slowmo from zero to one,
distilling memento mori ad hoc.
Just like a Rigoletto really,
or a cigarillo nearly, huffing,
Puffing, somewhere in the night.
Here’s how in
the hear
& now
brown cow
& gate
left open field
as far as
The
Ice Can
Sea.
Grimbeau 