Monday, August 3, 2009

Shift+F7, results pending.

Her first man was still a boy
when abstract nouns were
finally grasped
at the age of five.

When abstract nouns were
staking out virgin terrain
at the age of five,
love came first, spelt L-O-V-E,

Staking out virgin terrain,
him and her holding hands in photographic contracts,
love came first, spelt L-O-V-E.
Later came falling out of, burned by, suffering from unrequited etc etc.

Him and her holding hands in photographic contracts,
legality unknown, records lost.
Later came falling out of, burned by, suffering from unrequited etc etc.
Disillusion is spelt A-H, ah.

Legality unknown, records lost
of her second man, the great failed love.
Disillusion is spelt A-H, ah.
The end of disillusion is spelt tears, T-E-A-R-S.

Of her second man, the great failed love -
he charmed birds off trees -
the end of disillusion is spelt tears, T-E-A-R-S.
Sex is a concrete noun.

He charmed birds off trees
onto marble shoulders:
sex is a concrete noun,
but he was of denser stuff.

Onto marble shoulders
she tried to carve her kiss
but he was of denser stuff.
When satisfaction was too late arriving, she left.

She tried to carve her kiss
on the third, the fourth, the n-th numbered man.
When satisfaction was too late arriving, she left.
Loneliness is spelt with too many letters.

On the third, the fourth, the n-th numbered man,
she tested love's awkward grammar:
loneliness is spelt with too many letters,
she needs an antonym.

She tested love's awkward grammar,
finally grasped
she needs an antonym:
her first man was still a boy.





Sunday, August 2, 2009

Whalesong

There are whales in my ear canal seas.
Your toxic sonic overspill is
hiking up beaching fatalities:
doubling, tripling, quadrupling.

Your toxic sonic overspill is
disorientating my whales. Interference
doubling, tripling, quadrupling
in cubic units of irresponsibility,

Disorientating my whales. Interference
unwanted, undesired, unacceptable.
In cubic units of irresponsibility,
you have breached your limit.

Unwanted, undesired, unacceptable.
Hush! It's calving season.
You have breached your limit.
Turn down the volume.

Hush! It's calving season.
My whales are struggling, still born.
Turn down the volume.
Clean up your sonic waste.

My whales are struggling, still born.
For all our sakes, STOP!
Clean up your sonic waste,
respect public aural space.

For all our sakes, STOP
hiking up beaching fatalities:
respect public aural space.
There are whales in my ear canal seas.

Monday, July 20, 2009

The Leftover List

1. Daylight hours, none.
2. Last night's roast beef, 3 slices.
3. Post-mortem fame.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

90% of learning happens outside of class.

Her lips are framed around 'imperialism', threat-like.
You secretly thank her for fumbling the pronounciation (English is your language, imperialistic or not.)
After class, you press her lips back to where they belong: a stretched O/oh/barely escaping 'woe'.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Ant remedies

Defend yourself with boric acid,
or boiling water, or diesel.

If you are karma-conscious,
cinnamon, cucumber or tansy
(repellants only, non-lethal).

But I don't think this was the issue
when you spoke of moral anthills.


Saturday, May 30, 2009

Wet Socks

Wet socks

make grumpy men:

the same wetness

that spoil their feet

draw out feminine curves,

cotton coyly clinging.

 

O if only clinging

to them were not the darned socks!

But life is full of twists and curves,

concede the men

at a distance of several feet,

while the wooing-thwarting wetness

 

couple madly with other puddles of wetness

beneath impotent umbrellas clinging

to their owner’s feet,

wetting more socks

and enraging more men

by being too intimate with unattainable curves.

 

The corner of her mouth, curves.

In times of wetness,

the sneaky peeks of men

come hard and fast and embarrassed, clinging

to a sense of chivalry as tired as worn socks,

as tongue-tied as verse in scrambled feet.

 

O Father, by Your Holy Feet,

Deliver them from her curves.

No one ever socks

another, or wrestle in wetness,

or rage with good sense clinging

to the gutter without cause. Deliver lust-struck men,

 

O Father! A-men.

It is laughable that men then turn to her feet,

clad in stockings clinging.

She cuts across the curves

of the pavement, slick with wetness,

a cruel betrayal of socks.

 

How fickle their clinging desires, these soggy men!

They who forever misplace their socks and trip over their own feet,

Craving curves glimpsed in moments of exquisite wetness.

 

 

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Irony

Your present to me
gathers well-loved lint as our
ex-love gathers dust.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Eviction Notice

One point six billion 
years of life left on Earth! Not.
For you, one more day.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Fragmented Seeks Help.

Fragmented Seeks Help.


I am:

sober hung-over without with the gorgeous the repulsive hunk dick under on my his duvet floor and I think don’t think that this is was mistake a good idea.

Fuck.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

OE is for Ostentatious Excuses

"OE girl seeks flat."
Father (divorced, spare room)
answered. Nightmares.