Woke in satanic
Disarray
Head left lolling on carpet
Overflowing tumbril nearby
Recurring nightmare
More daytime television
Born on Bastille Day
Somehow inevitable
Both folks Irish Republicans
Marie Antoinette Dignam
How she hated cake
so did her parrot:
Madame Guillotine
Shower head diaspora
covers nearly all
the living and the shed
articles of modesty
lie soaked abandoned
to a watery gravy
a stock cube in a pocket
Why! What possesses?
Always prepared. Alert
To ever present promise
Roast armadillo
All the trimmings
Lutes
Madrigals
White & black
Gulls
Lulls
Culls
Hulls
Trawl
New
Deeps
A new thousand Fear Reich.
Open vista #9 – Closed for reparations.
Glass Onion luminaries stare at ship’s decanter:
Sense data, Alma Mater,
Seed potato incinerator:
Sub-geranium angstrom tunes.
New era music:
Jerry Lee Lewis…
Slice up the orange
segments on…
aluminium sink top
undulant altarpiece
Orange offering
A savant of the rite
wipes rustic
ludic breadknife
serrates thick zest
splices pith, quartiles
flesh in succulent
ghoulish
garish
gauche
gum shields
skin & pith intact
snaffled up cutish
tense borne by bent paw
over caustic chasm
Sure chariot passes
Imperious, regal, sublime
Sedate above vile
sundry understuffs:
Abysmal unmentionables,
Microbial, teeming rakes
Gyrating about the obscene floor
one of my heads in
bindweed, strangulating
taut shoelace gristle,
fleet heat seeking
missile, destination
amygdala sun spot
I sat staring wide awake At a snow white candle on an empty round table Sired for wounding Or so it feels, A beast of field & stream This pelt makes it real: Lank, soaked, maculate creaking, cloying character armour…
A warning! Do not trip On the large smooth shiny spongey granite muffin At the door In the night It slid there whipped cajoled & now wet-nursed by tender urgent scrubber Those same handmaidens who passed on this message: ‘I just curled to say I love you. Skip.’
The wind
Picks up a pace,
carrier bags, paper cups ,
crisp packets, true rumours,
sweet wrappers, where you left off, very light aircraft…
All manner of stuff really
Working away at this old stone,
older than you or I,
older than the hills,
the sea,
the sky.
A chip here, a scrape there, turn
it round assisted
by a cast of thousands,
starring Rock
as Itself.
once while drowning
sheepishly
in the Black Sea
a big black boat
snook up and jumped
me from behind
after some time I
pulled what of me
was left together
tucked it up safe in
screeds of belly lard.
a rescue party
arrived and asked
me if I’d seen me.
I said a curt yet
polite no and
crawled back ashore.
Deep dark blue
Indigo Ink
Squids under
Black Seas
She crossed herself
hoping to die
how come she
ended up living
a lie?
A life sentence…
A death sentence…
A syntax of despair…
Quick smart snicker
Polka dot
Gypsy dancer
White skies
Kissed the red earth
Dying to live
Ended up dying
A truth
Grimbeau 