Fed and quartered on beds edge.
The cold sun sinks, limp shadow
wraiths strewn screeds, scatty notes,
forgotten glimpses of time pledged
dreaming word dreams, now merely
ungainly ugly doodles.
Weak, sloppy, turgid, grey
premises of yarns & plays.
No, just throw them all away,
The black bin bag is waiting:
You only have to turn around.
‘Snow is not thick on the ground’
Hopeless weatherwomen say
When nobody is watching.
Something smells
like burnt Mamba.
It must be
Dinner time.
How can you
play the lute
at a time
such as this?
Two afternoon:
Watched
the last shipwreck.
Those in peril
on TV
Ought to sport
cork vests,
&
Sensible brown shoes
Just in case the wind
gets up
a bit.
Sleep vermillion deep on tilted bed,
blood seeped lush ooze
downslope heading headwards
deflating maculate instep and arch,
ankle, heel, and calf.
Flooded dreams of Fen, Ely, Hereward the Wake.
Airborne screech, bare bummed cackling grimalkin:
surfeit of posset. Traitors lurk amongst
liturgy and reeded, boggy hollow.
The Wash will out the Crown.
Subscribe: Free Calendar! A year in Sing-Sing.
Habeas corpus or what? Amnesty.
Ethical gift to salve the conscious conscience.
Place on cardboard coffee table to catch
the eyes of passers-by, nod frownfully
in silent solace, go wild ape and shout:
‘Owzat!’
Then, from red animate to grey plausible go
do your best sepulchral Arlott:
‘Calendar caught Eye bowled Jaffa.’
So, poor thing you lost a leg
&
kept your feet.
Do you need
a garter, a kneepad,
or some spare
Trouser legs?
You only need to ask
see the bright
from the dark.
Tell me what you see,
Grasshopper?
gift your worst enemies:
deep sea anemones
Loosen
Dismantle that cord leash
Get to know a feather boa.
Feel fine hair attend your neck,
Floss, gossamer and flim.
‘Who was that me once know’
Mister Morphosis sinuated.
Giggle on the down slope
Hands off: Freewheeling.
Joy for Joy’s sake
Cherish the maybes
Let regret fleet
A phase of years
Some are called days
Better to have lost and loved
Than never to have lost at all.
Mortality spooned high and heaped:
thick cold blisters, ampule-like.
Reason’s varicose vanity disgorges
on cheap wall-to-wall.
No pulse.
It was all in vein,
nano hulks flap brief resistance
unflapped flow proceeds.
Thumb pressure,
white nailed myopic frogman.
Sleep above the waves.
Beneath the wined ark corpuscles
All them short lives.
Approaching Four:
Darkening December Afternoon.
Radio and slippers on.
No pipe, or Drum,
or wattle daub.
No dread tattoo.
Still too early for the Angelus bell
– no one sounds one round here anyway –
not that I’ve heard.
Never saw one neither.
Leafy swell yesterday,
clear night so far,
foggy dew unlikely.
Grimbeau 