Showered thoroughly, racket of motors and gardeners ergo
no P&Q – which should be minded at all times. Pills taken
after scotch egg and salad. Sit outside in the din? Coffee & Fag first,
Friday afternoon slope off early. Bone piece on Hacek okay,
Strike Magazine – check it out, maybe subscribe. Need something
softer under my bare arse. Where was I? Coffee and fag.
Yesterday plus one
damp smell of seventies
porn mag, black and white,
thick minged,
Titbits or Parade,
lawn and hedge,
put it back where you found it:
a secret.
Stealthy wanks and aloof strops conceal
the pull and then sulky sleep,
complex born.
Delivered by a bald man from Parslow’s
who looked like a parrot,
or that comedian who made a film with a parrot,
lantern jawed, sort of Stanley Holloway,
that time anyway.
We move into different times of Happy Door
writing down the football scores
in a Woolworth red notebook
and very erudite
but for the greasy skin and hair
and the Bri-nylon shirt:
withered upturned orange collar,
second hand jacket that was always too big:
still is.
Pink salmon trousers for smart
made me look and feel like a dork,
perhaps I was!
Do not let on or you’ve had it,
there will be retribution and bullying
far worse than ever known in the history of me.
Join gangs,
walk hard and hide
clever bully,
ideas man,
dirty rec,
silly temptress with Goldie locks,
the smell of sweet wee-wee.
Bowled him!
Over
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.
Middle-aged callow chants and chick pea stew.
Lukewarm Ointment smoothed in careworn lost eyes.
Hind-sighters rushing after scornful truth.
Saps still raking moon under the morning
Maple syrup
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.
So, spill coffee over oneself and kitchen.
Result: soft summer incandescent
Rage! Against a covering of lichen
Sludge, puddle,, brute granulated isthmus
And slipper. Tears of hopelessness well up
And the day is defined as sloth and neglect
Dream of cream cakes, water skis and beaches.
Humanism really ought to practise
What it preaches.
Grimbeau 