HE LOOKS LIKE A KIND HELL'S ANGEL
HE LOOKS LIKE SAXON JUSTICE
HE LOOKS LIKE BAMBOO BENDING IN THE WIND
HE LOOKS LIKE A REAL SELLING POINT
HE LOOKS LIKE A JOHNNY CASH SONG
HE LOOKS LIKE A QUESTION TO ALL THE KIDS

Watch yourself – surveillance cameras in the bedroom

Flavour of a month

Fine layer of crumbs on the floorboards

Carnaval creepers intwined in obscene dancers’ search warrants

Could you burn more wet wood, waterman?

Then roll your right nose over the steel-sticky respect

Then come oranges, limes, milk, balustrades, Baltimore

The desert makes her brave

You are assigned the following hobbies:

White outings
Sections of pear piracy
Mild poker
Maths over smugness
Desire to light the shed mountains
Coffees
Number place piano pauses
Aleo aloo aloovi

as the butter sizzles trumpets clatter and bubbles burst animaniacs

uummmmm, thinking out loud

James heeft een reactie geplaatst in een discussie.

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Re: Ding dong the bells without my radio
wick wick...

Hey,

Of course I'll be there in my thread and web. How could I not be? And, indeed, I've said as much. Helene brings me to the ever-so-serious STAG pluralise that?

Seriously, I think we should meet up before space in their diaries debauchery.

It's stop next week - although I'll be in doing OfSTED smoking hypnotherapy appointment and am viewing a Rent to Buy flat in Hackney; to Paris..... But, ummm, thinking out loud, would you be a fucking cold again.

SNOWCLONE

SNOWCLONE


SNOWCLONE

HOW ON EARTH DID YOU MANGLE THAT?

SNOWCLONE

SNOWCLONE

SNOWCLONE

HOW ON EARTH DID YOU FAIL TO TOOT?

rumpy pumpy

pump

chump steak

rakish angle poise lampion lamprey

rumpy scot lot

gin cider

gigabytes

would that it were

labelling

i'd like to write a poem in which various elements are labelled, rather after the manner of Harry Mathews' 'The Journalist'

ostriches

a sack of images
weighed down by stop
dusted and not done
stains
blueberry jam
stale and all its uses
mick
panty
light and the last
listless lust
broohaha
snow photos
turned out
pinned eyes