I
am It
Impossible to
Live without
So are you
From time to time
frequently
More not
Than often
You hate to
feel like this
about us,
particularly
when we just
Sit doing thinks
Our dead eyes
staring out scarecrows
watching birds fly painted
frozen page
aware
big ideas
swiftly disperse
wonderstuffs
Outdoors, car
doors slam
outside under
sunshine
On the Waterfront
plays inside
In the shade
In black and white
Behind the elephant
Under the cloud
Too far out,
too previous,
horse chases cart,
down the winding
rutted track
half-heartedly
stampeding
It is simples .
The sun is shingle.
The sky is nice.
The hoof scarpers
Gleeson waxes.
Here hens rule.
Honey my coffee.
Feel my world contriving.
Open the pod door Hal.
Pass my Topper.
Ready or knot.
Cardigan Bays
White carpet carnage
Contrary little varmints
Annihilated
Ruthless sucking gas mask tube
Makes light work for Pinkerton’s
Golf girl plumb potty
flipped clean absent trolley
on treacherous pin
A chaos of familiar streets edge the hub,
smell the humming throng murmur and burr.
Was that a car door or a suicide bomb,
splatting like a bursted, maddened boil?
We look up for more, get none and get back up to pace.
Streets wail blocked with beds and wardens.
We bustle along skulking, tutting, smiling,
Snarled, peering, eyes down, anti-heroes,
Loose limbed, bloodied free climbers…
But the main sport selfie masks –
learnt as toddlers when we dodged all
punishment for our misdemeanours.
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.
My best advice
to those concerned –
Watch the lips
Ignore the words
Where was the spoon?
The Spoon – the fucking spoon!
Water was running,
Loud and constant
running water
You left the fucking tap on!
He could just make out the familiar, nasal tone.
My eyelash is awash with milk suds
Not quite a froth
Clambering from the cereal bowl
Was arduous hard
Like pond weed
And gypsy tart
Grimbeau 