Tarmac patch water tower
wood stump clearing dip
and two
little double roundabouts,
flat binocular
white nipples
sullied by tyre smear,
skids, and fast
turning people
rushing to the bomb
plant past gypsy site,
through wood and common bends
and twists and dents
to the Falcon’s nest…
A blind, dead driver
in front
slows and
indicates all options
before a left at the lights opposite
a set sun of cheap stuff
and loss leaders
that call the believers
and sinners to shop.
Late sultry night and nearly sultry morning.
DODI? More royal dross, oozy does it,
nice & oozy.
Hot & Cold liquid. Door?
Scratch? Make enquiries without.
PC Pigeon, Flying Squad, scratching around
like Inspector Hound – more of a sniffer who likes a snorter.
Barmy cops the blame for littering path.
Does his bit, Hound.
Slowly make drinks of coffee and codeine,
think food: rashers possible. Go get it together:
fill kettle, don kaftan, open door
(already did that above).
Verses! Form and content.
Wrestling with Flowers:
let it flow out, only drips from an empty tap.
Sticky so shower laters.
Gutpowder arrives; cause celebre to
noisy gobsloth to be centre of attention:
failed and fucked off!
Trappism recommenced at 10:45.
Start to detox tomorrow; fancy a sausage!
Quite peckish, yesterday’s heat mostlike;
thunder earlier; food is good. Sausages on: pollop shopping;
feeling flat, food and incantation desired;
crock steady, one day at a time sweet nexus.
Sharpen up with a shower, kick out the jams…
Note a relapse to ultra-brevity,
so often happens when fractious, hereshow:
skirting the zone, hit and run prowler.
Regard the Fearstalker
See the pushy, nagging whippet.
All the trees
are brown
and the
carpet is grey.
I went
for
a splash
on a summer’s day…
Rite of Spring on: unseasonably
Pleasing accompaniment while
Sitting daringly naked with towel
To hand and an eye on my genitals
Ensuring they are not overexposed
To the sun.
Having been burnt before like this.
When the Rite is done
(less than thirty minutes)
Back indoors to lunch on cider and crackers,
And, gently creaming my largest organ.
It is the centenary of this Rite.
Sixish
Warm, heavy, windless evening.
The stumbling minor chords of evening stumble
as a lazy dozer, sticky from unusual heat,
wends homeward to unstick the goo and
prepare for tasks unimagined,
unwelcome,
and sunshine important.
Midday after a slow trudge of a morning
Skid marks on my pillow:
A pillowcrash.
In the wee big hours when dragonflies sleep
Worldnews feeds my dreams, another train disaster
More than not man dead, I am well informed
By a tweet tweeting by
Just after seven when all the gods wake.
Epic phone call underway
Mutti’s birthday
Nineteen forty three was it?
Wind sprinkles hose droplets:
Sprinkler.
Faux summer afternoon:
Shower how it’s done.
Easy racial stereotypes
Sturmers
Drangers
Blowers
Errors
Spiv summershadowspots:
Forget me pink wotsits
How reminiscent of one
Who threw the bathwater
Out with the baby bio.
The Yellow Fish:
Finally ate,
heavily poached,
taken with fennel,
some soggy spinach
(the dregs of the day before yesterday’s green salad, the flies hate it),
a slice of linseed and creosote loaf,
found timidly lurking in the gripes of the breadbin
(thin slices of linseed).
No nausea is welcome, as always.
dawn breaks on the bough
replacing weary night;
werewolf and dogman
return to their lairs;
and, we ride out
to snatch Tyburn’s necklace,
and plant it deep in
undiscovered clays
Grimbeau 