on his baby carrot
to blight his King Edwards.
He’d tickle your Vesuvius, love.”
Says Martin. I love shopping
with him. Gay blokes know what’s
good on you.
He says “My sister got Pound Shop threaded eyebrows:
two black slugs on a ledge.
Elizabeth Taylor weeps.
Yoga pants with holy knees.
She’s been shagging on the carpet.
Should have carpet burns
where her pants are ripped.
Looks like a bull with a ring
through its nose this septum thing.
She hasn’t got a jewellery box,
so dangles it all off her ears.
Bright and bold stripes. Ha!
She looks like a bloody deckchair,
or Denise the Menace. Put up or shut up.
Smiley piercings inside her top lip,
when she smiles looks like a lonely
curtain ring that’s lost its curtain.”
I love Martin. Wish straight blokes
were more like him.
As I did when she was alive
I risk infection or rejection.
I sterilise her ash in an autoclave,
as with needles and rest,
makes sure it’s fine powder
mix it with the ink.
She said “I get under your skin. Don’t I?”
The grey heron
who eats all the fish
in her pond
brings back to her
a risen cornfield
or her home
each delicately, slowly
undress the other.
As lovers unmask her scars,
“Kiss, or bite every word here.
I like pain. I’ve no regrets”
Lip lover’s tongue recites a Maurice Sendak “Where the Wild Things Are”
italic roman sentence that begins at her bitten bottom rose scented lip
curves under her jaw, snakes
down her neck, between her breasts,
over her stomach until it reaches
three dots before her vulva,
and inhales her summer fruit.
Sole lover whispers a gothic lettered Lewis Carroll “Alice In Wonderland”
sentence that begins under right foot’s third toe flourishes over her instep,
around her ankle, under her knee
and up the lily aroma of her thigh,
over small apple of her back,
and, against strict instruction
paraphrases, cuts and pastes frenziedly down her other
leg a kiss on each of her painted toes.
She has never felt so wet.
bolt the doors, lock the windows,
doomsday is coming to town,
‘cos London’s got a muslim mayor.
O, woe is us, our children are not safe,
we can’t walk the streets at night,
listen for the knock on your door
‘cos London has a muslim mayor.
O, the monsters are being elected,
our nightmares have come true,
there’ll be murder on the streets,
‘cos London’s elected a muslim mayor.
nurses nestled speckled grey
in crevices and tumble
pluck winged black spots
out of air, keep darkness at bay.
Whilst new rooted claws
hold world’s turn
plumaged again after autumn’s moult
yearn high for thermal spiral
ascent and cloud.
thought of this afternoon
when spiderlings in sandwich boards
“6.99 Any Pizza”
waved at transport as it passed.
Sunlight is too bright for you
like that redhead in black gladiator sandals
and little grey dress pushing an empty pram uphill.
bats flicker as light dims
moss green wood warblers
effuse beneath leafy
hands that unfurl
pied flycatchers flit
redstarts flick fiery tails
breathlessness and restraint
in nightingale pauses
earlier creamy cow parsley
licked hedgerow edges
as whitethroat songs incised blue sky
hurried fret against fall
of effortful feathers
eyelids swoop then lift
accept light again.
fret against fall
of effortful feathers.
Eyelids swoop then lift,
accept light again.
whether to scratch my watch or wind my arse.
Haven’t seen the ball since kickoff.
I have the relative IQ of a deck chair.
A poster child for birth control.
Couldn’t hit the floor if I fell on it.
If you stand close enough to me
you can hear the sea.
Forgot to pay my brain bill.
Antenna doesn’t pick up all the channels.
My belt doesn’t go through all the loops.
Another brain would be lonely.
I would argue with a signpost.
If you gave me a penny for my thoughts, you’d get change.
People have had more meaningful conversations with a brick wall.
I ran out of gas before my car.
Nice cage, but no bird.
Left the scene before my body.
Wind is blowing but nothing is moving.
Umbrella is up but there’s no rain.
Most people drink from the fountain of knowledge, I only gargled.
I have been shipped but not delivered.
If my nose was on upside down
I’d drown in the rain.
My elevator goes to top but the doors don’t open.
One IQ point above brain death.
Any slower and I’d need to be watered once a week.
All booster, no payload.
I have some lug nuts rattling in my hubcaps.
Nice house, not much furniture.
IQ lower than my shoe size.
brains from Adam.
If I could do the right thing.
Make the right choice.
I would be able to care for you.
when they handed out brains.
If brains were dynamite,
I couldn’t blow my hat off,
wouldn’t have enough to blow my nose.
Brains were webbing, I couldn’t
put a set of gaiters on a sparrow.
I’d be on the floor playing with it.
Brains were electricity, I wouldn’t
have enough to light a firefly.
Brains would know what you were
thinking and able to act on it.