Daylight
turns up over-clouded,
dampened, colder.
Solid,
slow, thick smoke
entranced sundown fires
exude precious little
warmth after dark,
Just
steady slow
smoulder, self-razing.
Torn up
newspaper, flyers, and cardboard
will leave glowing,
but soon, instantly,
stop, dissemble
And fall in tattered,
flimsy, dark smuts.
Look at that:
a dogged dog
who don’t play it doggo,
sit when spat at,
beg for his dinner,
or die for a queen…
whose bite is worse
than their bark,
you swallow,
gruffly ruminating
over a lamb’s leg…
waiting for a pig’s ear,
rueful of the duck’s arse,
sizing up the parson’s nose,
exercising horse sense
with the stubborn donkey…
Overseas posting
not good enough,
don’t try harder!
It’ll shine when it shines.
Good plop and poem
about New York
by Bugsy Seagull –
something about rap,
Drive-by shooting music.
Got the croc &
ref to Prufrock.
Felt great weight
fall from me.
Refreshed by
Mountain Fontain
Compulsorally hosed,
Crimped, and pinked.
Brunch in Zimbabwe
With old boys
Sporting ties
Old school lies.