Gary Busey
His teeth
Reflecting broken society with delight
Or perhaps the sound of a crow
Wanking on a US talkshow
If crows can wank that is.
I once saw a Jackdaw
Pecking at a sleeping tramp's jap's eye
Through a hole in his sick-stained suit.
That tramp became Gary Busey.
Monday, 27 June 2011
Horror of magnets
The Horror of magnets
Iron filings in your face
Magnet makes the beard.
Your credit card slain remorselessly
Random killings.
C90 of 80s hits
Mutilated
By an impersonator of the north pole.
Synapses follow the leader
Alignment
Crashes into Boots
In a golf kart
Killing Bono.
Prison
No more magnets.
Iron filings in your face
Magnet makes the beard.
Your credit card slain remorselessly
Random killings.
C90 of 80s hits
Mutilated
By an impersonator of the north pole.
Synapses follow the leader
Alignment
Crashes into Boots
In a golf kart
Killing Bono.
Prison
No more magnets.
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
Terence Trent Mugabe
Terence Trent Mugabe
Sent himself to Derby
In a mouse's pocket.
"You're an idiot mate",
Left his mouth
And swept
As a spectre
In a breadbin
Into the uninterested sky.
Meanwhile,
Lord Mayor of Derby
Passed a hot stool
Into the uninterested u-bend
And a love affair began.
Sent himself to Derby
In a mouse's pocket.
"You're an idiot mate",
Left his mouth
And swept
As a spectre
In a breadbin
Into the uninterested sky.
Meanwhile,
Lord Mayor of Derby
Passed a hot stool
Into the uninterested u-bend
And a love affair began.
Sunday, 19 June 2011
The monocle
Patrick Moore
Lunar submersible
Stomach like a wooden globe drinks cabinet
Face wrapped around a little glass window
Squinting at diamonds.
Underpants like a sleeping bag
Out under the stars
In a tent full of black and white memories
Of moonwalks and space probes.
And I see his mass expand over the years
Along the Herzsprung-Russell curve
So when Patrick - now Red Giant trousers
Throws off his gases, recklessly towards his neighbours
Will he turn into a dwarf? A small core? A bean?
Or maybe all that is left
Shall be his monocle.
Lunar submersible
Stomach like a wooden globe drinks cabinet
Face wrapped around a little glass window
Squinting at diamonds.
Underpants like a sleeping bag
Out under the stars
In a tent full of black and white memories
Of moonwalks and space probes.
And I see his mass expand over the years
Along the Herzsprung-Russell curve
So when Patrick - now Red Giant trousers
Throws off his gases, recklessly towards his neighbours
Will he turn into a dwarf? A small core? A bean?
Or maybe all that is left
Shall be his monocle.
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Your Dinner
Your dinner
The Ark Royal
Inedible disaster
Sinking like a singularity
In Stephen Hawkings bed bath
A forlorn dollop of raspberry compote
Has fallen like a body bag
Upon your knee
When will you ever learn
Not to eat at the museum
Of Maritime history
Without your spectacles
The Ark Royal
Inedible disaster
Sinking like a singularity
In Stephen Hawkings bed bath
A forlorn dollop of raspberry compote
Has fallen like a body bag
Upon your knee
When will you ever learn
Not to eat at the museum
Of Maritime history
Without your spectacles
Ode To The Western Fundus
Your face,
Like a freshly soiled settee
Hangs upon my synapses
As crabs offer me flowers
To compensate the deviation
That your gravity demands of my cortex
And black, oil slick dreams of Noel Edmonds
Taking his pants off
And peeing in the bread bin
A chutney unveiled
"Great soup, Norman!"
Like a freshly soiled settee
Hangs upon my synapses
As crabs offer me flowers
To compensate the deviation
That your gravity demands of my cortex
And black, oil slick dreams of Noel Edmonds
Taking his pants off
And peeing in the bread bin
A chutney unveiled
"Great soup, Norman!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)