The Glover’s Apprentice



just as I stormed out

(stories of abrupt

departure & failed

reunion make up

this – my stock in trade)

all anguish became

fear & suspicion

(once again the guilt of the

victim who has always had



The only blood spilt

was as ever mine

yet I was in the wrong just as

ever I was before for as

long as I could remember


There were my motives

always questioned and

wistfully approved by those

who held the sway over things

at that particular time…

(to be continued…)

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Sea Gherkin Fugue



…floorsucker  churns, provokes

gaspings and breathings

safe depthiness is spored

making me splutter

like a pudgy, tetchy baby.

This grief hugs me hollow.

fig lungs implode:



& oyster beards

strangle raddled eyes

Blasted by terror

we stare in mirrors

for escape not reflection.

Look there only when

lamp posts resemble fate.

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Kerosene Canopies


Bin Dong

Napalm funburst sunset, oilslick bitter tears

Give way to pork smells, rumbaba, cockatoos

Squawk, rustles of last gasp, reeling tigers,

plangent oozing, floating, clades and phylums

make touching, silken, floating islands.

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On Jung’s Porch



everything comes to

those who can be bothered

 to make the effort

crashed out on Jung’s Porch

gazing up at the upside down

welcome mat above the door

so you’ve got to think

upside down to make it out

Your visions will become clear

only when you can look

into your own heart.

Who looks outside, dreams;

who looks inside, awakes.

– Carl Jung

No matter when a god will come

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Food Bank



A tory most crass, loud, and pompous

Created a row and a rumpus

After saying  the needy

Were lazy and greedy

They ate him with oodles of humus

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Augustus Eve



Mohawk moon bounces
off the back of lamas,
wheat settles down the valley,
faux electric fences snigger,

old farts: new beginnings—
shock of the old gone claggy

all I learnt forgotten now
lanark new lanark biomass
cri de coeur upsets blue crows
conspiracies of silage grow

Mucking Out



When I take the air and roam

the tombstones and monuments

the iron door clicks ajar –

the cycle is complete.

Only now the air is sound

is it safe to do the rounds.

When I check the last twitch,

the most challenging flitch,

the one at the top

of the heap grips the grill.

A zither plays loud mad brash.

I pull my sword and euthanize him.

Then & only then the loading can commence…

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Treasonable Doubt



Here comes the sun to have a laugh,

a snigger, a check it out, a gloat at

little lives playing themselves out in safe,

unhappy scripts:

polishing, dusting, painting crypts.

Rolling tiffs, thinking cliffs, wind blowing quiffs,

In skipper’s beards, fucking weird.

And I sit in judgement. How fucking weird is that?

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Grey paint is my usual,

matted not glossed,

ruffled and talced

certainly not groomed

by Governess Pecheur.

Her mild odour

Cologne and cat nip

perverts my lust for

kedgeree and fauve cheeses

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Purple sloping Wonderfield

Bog cattle hugging below

Sat like the statue thinking

Halfway up on a blasted stump

Beneath a humming pylon

Beside a scruffy gorse

Sits a painted horse

Myrtle twizzling track

Made respectable by

Tarmac and white strips

Desiccated coconut flakes

Magnolia and cherry blossom

Windblown dusting cows snouts

Makes them shuffle, snort in concert

Painted horse sneezes along aloof

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Vishusss…(hit me with a flower)


Luncheon With Eric

So we cut the abstract,

not like light or mayhem

See that, I missed it too

Perhaps it…no

Don’t fall for that


Turn off the light.

Shan’t see now


This is you and me

Once immediate

Like a memory


Important lightning

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Hector’s House


hector with thistles

manic barking mad

loud loquacious luminaries

call us to come heel

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Deuterium Climes



Rain, sultry rain.

Opaque grapes,

leaden sky fruit,

burst on copious,

oil dark

plush olive,



luscious leaves.

Three chirrup

kaleidoscope toucans

tenderly engage

a dopey puffin then

hunker down within

the livid dense canopy

to share a light

repast of slender wafers

over a convivial round

of knock out whist.


no matter the weather,

is Housey-Housey,

a rainforest favourite

throughout the ages.

Beastlings from yards

Around always


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Lunch upon

time used

every second


Sporting matching

bonnet and black, baggy


Sweaty, seedy boxers,

and fresh Homer slippers.

Ready for inaction.



don elastic

cotton vambrace,

the day begins.

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Runcible Spoon




Who stir



Return to




View original post

Spoonless in Sparta



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

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Porter slugging as rains beat drown
Drove Old Bell to Horse & Groom
Afternoon swell ales & gasbags
Grace free air conditioned flatulence
Caught up on long lost anti-heroes
Remnants of tandoori knights
collapsing in blue suede abandon—
where’s the point of cleaning up
when it only gets dirty again?
Midsummer rain birds waddle
Ritually tantalise boney ghosts—
Ship infested once again
Ratty, puffy curse filled Zen
Stuff their mouths quick silver till
pink gums bleed sprout gold teeth
& Tongues ooze slurry, weak jaws creak,
mouths deny, despise and munch
So cruel now once so wondrous comrades
Wishing one daft pond farewell,
Waltzing slow through naked blushes,
sniggers, pissed emboldened hushes
What a little magic cannot do
To geese mislaid & drowsy Frogspawn
Six thought eight count nine bells twice—
disturbance brings division thrice—
strange waters let misrule connive—
strawberry noses, blotchy skin
mischief makers, caustic gin
floating on a wave of ale
along the ditch & cricket pitch
beyond the sodden common
all downhill around the bend
past St.Mary’s obscure spire
stark granite suburban Dead
congregate for wakes & ale






…educated right hand
toyed with me but briefly
before easily putting me down
with a dismissive squib
and a scintillating boat
hook that landed me sparko
on the seat of my scruples
— did not see what that was
coming for the life of me…
anyways flattened him good
in the third with a lusty
left upper ignoramus
wiped the smarm off
his valentine in a jiff it did…

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She Said



Surprise visitor!
Ginger Rogers fresh from heaven
knock me down with a feather boa

give us a twirl then luv
‘aren’t you going to ask me?’, she said
Ask you what I close upped

Strong silent typography
‘How does it feels to be dead?’
She thinks I’m Peter Fonda

Poor love goddess,
They all go a bit
Sunset Boulevard

I give her my father’s best side
And flash the trademark
well-upholstered teeth

she smiled knowingly
We parted on the best of terms
It had not always
been like that…in fact never
quite like this before

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Time Marches Off



Cleaner, obscener, Greek God-like, romantic visionary gobshite, deified by self and mothers, receives less than enthusiastic response from beleaguered eejit trojan woman

Hoi polloi turn away sneering like Mutley at yet another abortive ruse by ludic evil genius to ground flighty, devious Columba

long slow road to equanimity stretches far ahead, distorted by sunstroke induced hallucinations, delusions of grandeur guaranteed by new toilet seat

obscured by cloud, the righteous dispute perceived flash promises of non-stop wall-to-wall sunshine on venture out

itchy feet pandemic induces potassium permanganate price hike on world markets, espadrilles nationalized in Atlantis

huge wave of despair sweeps over low self esteemers—
what is the incidence of Alopecia in Appalachia?

Dorset five held indefinitely by Etruscan potwallopers, Foreign Office remain vigilant. Time is of the essence.

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little white truths



empty hour glasses
litter shattered livelihoods
dress rehearsing sighs
try not to laugh out loud much
as you’ve heard them all before
My homework ate the dog

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Odd Jobs



Is there something wrong 
with everything, a flaw, 
a rift, a fissure,
the meerest hairline fracture
inbuilt obsolescence has
a lot to answer for; so,
later today dangling 
upside down by 
the ankle attached 
to a withered yellow rubber band 
I will venture to examine 
various suspect roof tiles
If I have the time 
Or indeed the inclination

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The Amputation



Like Keaton

Granite fey



Watching you


Walking away

Those sublime hands

Thrust deep

That old grey, fleecy,

Hoody down

Right to leave

While the goings

Bad to bloody


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When Triteness Yawns…




twinkling casually on

the blackened ovaries:

bleck and wite unite

and fight in equaliser dreams;

might have beens, should have beens,

mass in your strangulated,

nutritionless mind,

in your dreams like somewhere safe,

nuzzling down,

cuddling up in green mossy pot,

snug as a bug in a rug.

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what is this life if full

of care we have

no time to stare

and stare?

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The Compleat Works of Grimbeau


John Boohan of Kilbeggan


What kind of fuel are you?

Wind, she replied,

What about you?



When do they beguine

The beguine?

After the


The night had

A thousand



Nine hundred and ninety-nine


Nights in White Satin:



Young and green

Only seventeen



Who let the dogs out?

Who let them



And now

The end



View original post

No Smokin’ Nuns…

shocking-old-photos-11 petrified rainbow
flaccid lambeosaurus
washed up in Bexhill-on-Sea
—aren’t men useless?




Donut talk juss eat

Said bulging face


My face with spit

Sure I butted him

Split the orange

Like two thumbs do

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Owl Speak


Issugh jurnee inn

Two A toothy ungnome

Jellow nomadick

Fine dingduh pursa fleedum

Inner bling-ding ovum I

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A view of the intersection at 5th Avenue and 42nd Street

Big joB geTs me Up

coNgress on aNti-mA:tters

– wasH & blOw Dry

Back  Abed fOr SoMething

uNderStood & mOre zEddds

(c’minG neXt sEconD…)

Fluffup bed & pUll bLinds toO.

SlEep NogO zonE

(aArgh, diDdums!)

6.51: coLd, cOld, colD –

uP the theRmOstaT tO 22c:

nEws, sNooze, cRuisE…uP theM woodY

stAirs to wasHhouse

(acc: a mUzak buGleR, cHip)

cOOkhouse sOunds siZZle,

sPlash, coLd wAter RunninG…niCE!

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Rue Morgue Avenue



Bullets rain,

winds prance,

Cold suns rise,

firebirds dance.

Sirens wail,

beggars chant:

Honi soi qui mal y pense.

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Novel on Toilet Paper


More Myth than Pith

read the plain yellow cover-
no author, no publisher, no nothing to go on

apart from copious words on waxy,

grey municipal toilet paper,

all held together with a giant orange paper clip.

Emma had found it on her doorstep bubble wrapped in a plain brown envelope

after responding to a gentle tap on her bathroom window

A slight smell of lavender and carbolic wafted up as she flicked pages with a numb thumb. The writing was small, sharp dark pencil.

The hand right-slanted, neat, clear, compelling.
It was the story of her life so far

just keep on going, keep on keeping on, just keep going on, one leg after the other, over and over again, running, walking, trotting, stumbling, hopping, skipping, jumping, leaping…just keep on going on and on…

—Prose-poetry! My very favourite! She trembled

…hurtling it is, hurtling past fast. & I…

View original post 145 more words

Alimentary, My Dear Emotion



Halfway out

mauve porch

some sun decides

to join the party

bins are emptied

rain wet ramp,

hick brick Ha-ha

under tree detritus.


Jackson Pollack

Frolicked once.

In the dry, damp dust,

scattered with cinnamon twigs,

silver Simeon stones,

and missionary weeds,

A mandrake sighs.

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gift your worst enemies:

 deep sea anemones

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Farmer Jones




Seven times seven
Two o one seventh seal
Leaven run leaven
bitter peace odd
Plain paper
Salt’n’pepper aeroplane spray season cropdust brown breadfruit flies wilt
“Abolition of Stigma? Come loosen ties familial Amen”
Sacrum pelvic hip
thigh shoulder neckties
kerchief!—Bless yooh
P os tur e:
He impostah
P a I nt…pretty pictures
Blue skies blow flowered fish fungus—eek!
A booogie Man bo-Jangles
A fall comes before
Pride’s purgatory
Open mind’s eye
Crusty pastry (goosy waxy gander berry
under bramble hairy apple green)
pale greeny gooh burr
prickler perickles tckles trick

dwell within whiffin
well without a care
where trespassers will be will be
all eye & no fireball
swimming in the night lake
blind sensual dreams
periscope up—Orion
touch of water nymph
rupetition-fourteen hours some put in, every day, in and out
(lucky if you get fourteen seconds) scared of being hurt because it hurts
& short of sight to boot
Might get lucky never know
Serendippy to do’s—that kinder ding
Bound to disappoint infirm choices seen one—where? Over there… On the box in the cornea, thought emulate tit (could do worse) trial & error nitro-glycerine boombagabang copycat bummer
Now this makes no sense
at a l l at aw l

Best us wrens kip sat after
Dudley Nightshirt shotgunned the shack
—caught one red headed delve in
bonny wee twiglets, reconnoitring
corpus delicti & vestibule—

Wilko sarge he go ape:
clinging onto balls noddily:
no nimcompoops plea-
knee apply within—

Marquees of Sausagemeat
apply unction thin over
disaffected aria—
mixxed upp massages
grate in translations
Scrotal yet anecdotal,
pip sick tomato saucy—
sweetmeat, sweetest meat goonight
All is clarified
Come heel tether haunt
Olly gottaway golightly gained employ
as vomitarian runespotter &
extremist Meeist
wit therapissed tendancesteps
bad end up in Wigan:
sin tears roll up slow
repaint at leisure
whiter shaded white for the job
whitecat in a White coalhole
dixieland seduces self
to larkin stock
flogging mustard wallpaper
Windmill mausoleum looms
large as lickstick on yer dolor
came inthru the bathroom dimbo
wipe it off as we know well
Close run think
Teensy infringement most myna
Bled squealing before Beak
not a snowballs open and shat case
he Fort hehohi jump
Hot coals
well odd hades
kitch art sloogs kino
Mistook thine identity for a Hut
sillus-billus: strato dimbus
Hit me with yer walkin stick wood yer?
Gibbon half a branch wood eye!
All Hull prison den broke loos
the rest is septic tanka
Eno Scruples hopped on
options not without limpets
Ted Unidexter RiP—
man of the Right right peepul peep’ole
in da no dontyaknow
Played a blinder on outsider
for a purple sprout—
What fang’n’gnomes whirr add!…
Seems this heads off some
Where else?
Forthwards heretowith rockin
to and fro for as long as
we decide what forever is

The Ups and Downs of Shelving


alter ego FG

Woke in satanic


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

View original post



The Sunday Hunt gets off in foible, bloodfeud & birdshit·mild panic ensued over still waters ·quelled a relapse into hell· then half thought it over-

applied soothing silver slave, deployed a magic plunge, ointed it with ju-ju leaves                                   & sat & waited till cries abated watching England fuck up at Trent Bridge—

forgive him for his gaping wounds old chap he suffers from tsunamis— gotta to getta grip Odette· crushed velvet gauntlets of three hundred one armed bandits sit before me egging me on —

up you get face a newbie — car chokes back coughs old farts depart—no gumtree for old man early worm catches bird off guard—watch it you—getting displacement wobbles· and the night—what of it?

up ever three times
experience tells us so
pees foreshadow poohs· but seriously!
Errant on the side of caution
What garbage Mistah Torrent—
object of intent obscure scotch bonnet mist on Loch Drongo
(one that never lifts it seems)—put the ball in the right area
—hard work when you only know the left areas—
process pit of imagination
pure dredgery
through all the detritus
litterbug droppings denote
previous expeditions—
swimming Annapurna? Yep


at last resort-read hardback book
‘Occidental death of an Onanist’
By Edgar Rice-Krispies
smirk cyno-cryptically
recounting quest to find
two thousand year old Egg
preserved in catnip
Dr Living-Room one presumes
—She part man part wheelchair—
crash landed on alfalfa centauri
hurled out at hi speed
jaw jut headstrong altitude
plaid exuding quirky confidence
made noodles fine as angel hair
not that many knew that side
hid light under a bushel
aware it would soon burn out
burnt rice paper lanterns

Hail & Fair Well

Ice bullets warm hearths
Hailstones pop, fizz, weep
Shiny clean wet coal
Catching slowly touch or go
Fetch some sugar just in case
Leave it by the poker, pan & brush
beneath the withered leather strap
shire horses lugging last
Hear hail turn to rain
Slugging back brown ale
belt & braces moleskin holster
evidently hard case nut picks up
cards & throws them down
pulls on an unlit passing cloud
gets taken for a mug last
clever jape double cross
real time vicar in disguise
suggests a hand of rummy
stage door bursts open
sneak thief of baghdad slopes in
seeking compensation
finds sweet zilch available…
on the wall a portrait winks
card table uproar erupts

Jam Sandwicj

we need a plan—a good plan
to get where we want

to be apart from not here just now
says who (and whose army?)

el Cid from Broadstairs downstairs
from far beyond the grave—why he
so macabre, sardonic, cheap

& nasty to boot
That’s not to mention stupid, obnox
& quite honestly sick

Nobody needs your shit—they got enough

of their own on their plate to be

getting on with to…
What about free diamonds-

free diamonds—

no questions asked
Diffo kettle altogetha

mon ami—diffo kettle alto

lightnin’ struck Hopkins

thrice in the barn loft conversion by the charnel house bedside the windowless birdcage
You cannot miss it if you dare look up—

spin the bottle
In Peckinpah slowmo
Nighflight entertainment central
Regular as fireworks
They could all be actors—of course
Just like voices that ring out on the radio
One big Mike Leigh slice
We need a map from here to somewhere else
To get where we want to

be apart from not here just now
—a map from here to somewhere else
To where, for what, with whom?
Winchelsea. Samphire. Pickles.





While sat below a while ago—before I got the milk in came a great relief—heard a bell ring in heaven
a landlord got its wings—

a very rare event indeed.
About that time, awareness rang up left a voicemail— warm sound
easy gift wrapped me up, perplexed it now felt safer

spinning round,
I trusted again—cautious winds ceased—less tension in my upper back,
the legs grew longer, my ankles suppler, more alive—all in all a new level, no
final plateau as I had feared,

another stairwell to paradise opened— this is how:
a kiss of appreciation and a big hug in hard times can do, seems
it is never too late.

Never over till it’s over —these gifts are fine and
rare for the baited bear—how the

society of others stinks—no purse
strings attached this time—caring for a living corpse—a body of opinion—
getting bitter twisted now go forgive your memories—

they know not what they do—do you?
Smoke goes up dog farts open tent flap—next door neighbours mirror bin
retrieval antics—what does it all mean?—disapprobation of sloth—
spherical tantrums—looking for trouble· now why would that be?
—questions crowd in thanks to dog farts—how myths are made—
Quite by chance inspiration—since walking was a sin—when death
came knocking at the door to collect protection money with menaces—
sunshine and birdsong—men’s semiotics—all foreign affair
gnomes observe great tits concealed by crimson tropical cactus—
Carmen Miranda shuffles across the veranda with a giant panda
shaking a wicked maraca—must be yes we can day of the dead—
four idle prisoners evicted from prison for crimes against the state
—don’t charge in like that—all the time it takes in the world is what it takes—never say die just stop going on—
and start all over again or else—stop wrestling adolescence—

it wins out every time…



Wenceslas! He Dead


Kiss my fetid arse, he mock Royal Family chortled,

and muttered chagrined at the Shrewsbury Six,

the Famous Five, and the silver sixpence

he always found coz he kept it in his waistcoat pocket.

He won’t get it this year. After all, it’s just

a feastday afternoon in the middle

of deep, dark december- a bit of fun.

So riot and dissemble, be not alone,

think of the others who have mice for family,

dining daintily on nice nibbles while

fellow peasants crave more presents and

pudding. So much to do and so little

time. Time to get it right. Just right. Surely,

that’s life after all is said and done.

A fuss about nothing, just sage & thyme

stuffing around since this time last year,

a plateful of woe, a glass full of tears.

And Uncle Norman’s toast.

Bless him.

‘Glaze your arses and roast myrhh hadyustate!

 Cheers, my…

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Ellis Island


Jack Kerouac on the football field

His wife,

his daughter

On the game.

Flooded delta:

Monsoon rain.

Eye catches Ad:

‘Give us your whores,

Your puddled masses’

Should have gone to

Evening classes.

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Food is Love



Bury your knee at wounded heart
marry a buffet saint
Nigella’s got

Two black eyes
Mary Berry ain’t.

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Here Comes Everybody



Characters surge in teeming, broiling tumults

Who, what, where, what are they yarns compose

spun, weaved, forged, tempered, cast, distorted

drawing, and withdrawing breath

from titbits of storylines,

Here and there, then and now, you have

Upsizings, threats, strengths, and weaknesses:

absurdities, absurd ditties, odd ways and beings.

See all these in a blustered, supple,

yielding, ready-berried Rowan; or in a tumbril,

air, toccata, fug, or others mirrored Mindseyes,

especially on these severe, unsettled October days.

View original post



Bring me moonshine

In your smile



In my hearth

O hearths!


The paraphernalia of open fires—

Scuttles, grates, tongs, clinkers,

ash shovel, hatchet

Rickety kneebends

Scrunching up the Sun

The News of the Screws


Picking good cinders

Hatcheting sticks

Three matches to light

Always three matches

Crackle & slow collapse


Juvenile flames keen to jive

The timing of the bigger sticks

Critical mass

The placement of the first coals

Put the heavy front on



Shut the little door

& hope real hard

Offer up a silent

prayer to the firegods

Every little helps

Last refuge of a scoundrel

See it caught at last

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Close Call



Lofty Perch


to earth and

got lucky

by missing

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This is it

Like a prairie

Far as you can see

One big

Bread Basket

Waiting to be cut down

Puzzles me sometimes

How they did it

In the old days

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I didn’t

do it

I wasn’t




really must

believe me.

I know,

I know…

The blue blood

on the rug.

The breadknife?

Yes, it’s mine.

The body?

Okay. It’s me.

Now do you


I am not

Guilty party.

View original post

That Schinken Feeling



Eggs boil not poached fore a changeling

& anna bun dance ov culd sweetmeat carved craythur combobulatio ob pink chicken squirrel, Black Forest Gurty Torso & Tyrolean yodellin’ hamstrings, incomplete minus granary seed thatched toast to hourmaker: Der Mood Molecule

Make me happy. it smiles

today again, s(un breaks through grey gloom.

Limbs visibly loosen- Eeks & Yipes

On the evergreen awks

Of Bar Baloney.

By Gum! Real gone quince ate duvet. The chancery of that!

Must go.

Elephant stick pot in the offing (door knock echoes in mosaic hall)

Once in a lunchtime (talking heads poke noses through letterbox flaps?)

Bargain Hunts a freebie. Michaels on the Micky-Takers. Quakers on the Rum

‘Wing it nut my bast advice. Hise up in the cistern.’

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