Horse

Horse
Not interested
In Rembrandt's oils
Staggers past the masterpiece
Grinning at worms
And pulling its lips over its eyes.

Dark peak
Candles light up
Little regions of memory
In the distant black cavity
Of wilderness

Horse on the prow of the hill
Rembrandt under one arm
Covered in smiles and winks
Nice one Cyril.

Famous Reincarnations - II

Marvin Gaye
How sweet it is
To be reincarnated as
A grapevine
Doing a handstand to impress a wasp
Or opening a stomata on a hot day
Sidcup

Famous Reincarnations I

Witness the portly form of Benny Hill
Return he did as the humboldt squid
Glassy eye that shines from deep
Ogles posh crumpet in swimsuits

Tentacles grope up from inpenetrable depths
A screaming breast and labial shriek
And suddenly
The horde in mania released
To find that beak.

Humboldt squid pursued by throng
Throng in thong
And bronze armour
Lifeguard waving fist in water
Why I ought ta...

Cue Benny Hill theme.

I am a Crow

I am a crow
I can go anywhere
I am a crow
I can go to IKEA!
I can rummage through the displays
I can have a 50p hotdog

But I can also poke out the eye of the man on the till
And fly away
Before the police arrive.

Back at my nest
Digesting my prize
A knock on the nest door arrives
The police flood in
A blur of helmets and truncheons
And put the cuffs on my wings.
They force me to regurgitate
The eye that sat safely
Inside of me

They put me in a cold jail
I shared a cell with Bono
Who had been arrested for tax evasion.
I looked up at Bono
His unnecessary face
Holding many appetising features
And because crows don't have willpower
I pecked out his eye.

And for that
The police
They let me go.

The lesson for crows here is
Keep pecking people's eyes out
And the rewards will come.

Cerumbrella

I fingered a fat girl
In Maryland Chicken
Her fat, greasy nose
Was ripe for the pickin'
I stuck up my arm
Right into her brain
I pulled up inside
As it started to rain

I stayed there for three weeks

Bugger.

Shed Man

Shed.

The whimsical whomsical garden orifice
The place
Where I
Stick my oroface.
When I'm not welcome
In my other shed.


Tools.


Include a pile of soil-stained magazines
A picture of a dog
With Bernard Breslaw's head
Before the rise to fame
Of Photoshop instead.
And all the space and time
That cannot be measured
By men with matted minds aloof.

I will burn in my shed.
I will burn with my "lad" in my hand
And a pair of guilty shorts
Like a rope around my knees
Whilst the moon watches
Through a crack
Like the dirty little moon it is.

Filthy
Moon.

Threesome
Moon.

Just you and me son,
Moon.

And the "lad" in my hand, son.

A cosmic tryst.
Fuck me I'm pissed.

Wife O'Clock

Forlornicata
A strong gust
Of garbage tongue
Sweeps the cold sense
From extra-triangular nuffink...

No
I wasn't saying anything.

Pull that custard
Over the tips of my outstretched eyes

Don't let the good juices
Seep

Glong!
Sorry I
Must go!

But in leaving I
Trap my ileum
Ileum in the door
In the door and
And watch in
And
And
All the insides are out.
All out.

I'll probably just leave my skin here then?

OK, bye.