What’s on the box Eng a match with which to strike ‘n’ burn it down 2drown in sound.

It was a fix, father
we thought in our heads
then got up from telly
And laid down our head in bed

Picking up pieces
From what had been said
And turn sounds & curtains of clockwork cross-ceiling light
Over & around
All in my sweet head

Can cars be stars?

Head lights are shooting

Been awake for years
And as many years, fears;
Refugees and war
Goes through sore
The mind of my kind of kid
– but now see they had hid
& do the ones who through news
so openly kid         ?
Don’t put things in my lid
Just fill up their pot
Ignominy & plot
Ignobility & rot
And rotting corpses
To boot
And loot.
Wearing your suit
Coloured ties such a hoot…

TV Screen        TV vote
TV beam          TV goat
Tv scream        TV Screened
TV Scrote         TV Scream

And listen to how furry your teeth are and go and brush them for god’s sake

Anyway,
“I’m gonna go on the internet for a bit”
No one says that anymore eh?
You abide in the internet

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Boudicca’s boudoir.

Female
Fimale
Faux males
Get thumbnails
Screwed
Chewed
Sum rouge and incense to
Bend brevity and mood
Furs ain’t faux and aint fo’ u
So toil some more in
Soil on floor
And tooth and claw
Sewing shut inside tent door
Begin in breaths of chants of lore
On mats of skin of boars and bores
Glistened skin a fireside awe
Paint all low and flesh you grew
Inside a heart you never knew
Twisting ’til her fathers knew
She shake your feathers far and true
Chariot to weather blue
Blackened flesh and painted blue
Comes cleaner than Iceni knew
Comes clean in Prasutagus’ lieu
His process shining firm and blue
And covered silk in juice of you
Me dreaming of the thing I’d do
She’d eat me down and spit the goo
I’d twist her trestled snake sinew
And bend Britain away from you
My long hair would use your hide to hide my chair
Red hair knotted everywhere
On her and my lit bodies fair
Bloody milky cream and hair
She lucids me what else to wear
She lets all loose and thunders ware
She’s stronger than your average bear
Melts iron and my awkward stare
(Being her children’s children’s children’s child, at least his spirit,
if yore with it;
Incense-intent timetravel make incensed inter-ancest incest ensue) !
Femme fatale won’t cut it like she cuts
Her breast so full and full of cuts
I’ll never pleased call women sluts
Wolf whistle?! dog, back to your mutts


The murder of a phonethief.

The young writer made his way down the boring blankness of the city street.
It was busy, but solitary still with boring.
Turns a corner,
Without warning,
A gang of hoods in hoods surround
Looks around, no soul around,
“Ey lad giz yer phone there”
Surely this is too unfair
Orion wearing underwear
Does he play or does he scare
Like silly children fighting fair
The speaker then reveals a blade
Short and slight but thickly made
Through skin and bone
intent to wade
The poet child won’t be waylaid
Visions can/will not be delayed
“Though tough sir you need this phone
To pay the gas bills at your home
It’s full of all my pretty poems
Made in ‘notes’ on nights I’ve groaned.”
“Hahah fkn poems?!” The lads stand all look round and laugh
And think of sweet robberies past
They never used to pay their gas
They did it all just for the laugh
Their body, souls already passed
Reverie drop look up at last
The smirk did twist and twitches last
Into the face that souls doth pass
Back to threaten man they pass
The laughing has but turned to gas
And nervous lack back stony fast
‘Sterling’ cig smoke only gas
There are no jokes, there’re no laughs
And eyes meet eyes in slipping grasp
The writer young, no time for lack
Or food to devils: answer back
Snatches blade
Successful *thwack*
Quicker than the vein of smack
And, Heck!!
Jams it in the speaker’s neck
Lets go to keep violence in check
Lets go, Orion karma checks –
Crimson squirts do issue forth
Around this deadly plunged in fork
-Dirty blood
Made in hood-
No stop to wonder
Or inspect
His win,
How pavement fills with bloody flecks
Gargle “!gaaargh! Do ah pull it out or leave it in lad??!!?”
Damage only made reflect
Eyeballs of monk and group deflect
He carries on, tread at same pace
And direction ‘fore this haste
The group disbands and lets him through
Not running scared but let him through
A few footsteps and then he knew
His souls would be free, red guilt goo
He walked down road, no shred of haste
Just calmly and at quite same pace
From ‘fore they did demand his haste
Looks up to black and outer space


Unre(a)d/unfed (drink that gravy you skinny b****!?).

The blue – jacketed Bhagavad Gita

& the red Rimbaud’s “A Season in

Hell”

Hot & Cold taps

Non-respectively

Obviously

Sitting bedside with wavied pages

Soaked in spilt drinks & gravies in

stages

(The gravy made grimoires even still more sagacious!)

Splitting the atoms in brain cells

for ages

They perfectly well mean nothing

to me, sitting and soaking in sunlight

& free

Arthur, heading south,

comes out the mouth

of people of letters & poems & grunge

to persist in purusha (पुरुष) to perish so young.

Poor people who’re powders now,

at them don’t lunge.

Also I’ll say

The sea of mouth-corners should really

be curled (That is the World.)

(I) Stumble in, scaring crows from behind theatre curtain

unfurled, to mind under mantras as everything’s

Whirled

(back to the brightest of pearls

such as these).

Bees should make cheese please, not

Honeys, and proper

stinkie ones .


Ragged downladder.

Seek to dissipate boyhood
whilst maintaining desire:

Overt panderings &

Inverted wonderings &

Bells yonder ring

Knells echoing in caves
& Under things

People don’t say what they mean when
they’re pondering.

The wearing-vest chest that is

blessed as caressed,

Cut up & bloodied

to buy time to be studied.

The powder of crystal

So fine in a mist wall

(A shrouding shawl wrapped

And wrenched ’round my face)

And

Ricocheted ’round the place

Is like light out in space

Braving chasms of quarks

& light years of dark

The danger of sparks

It’s a lark so

I don’t know why you drink

Your light spirits of stink

Don’t expect things to link

Or you’ll be in the clink

Or trip over your brink

Hmm.. What should it be about Honey eh?

A mounted yet talking trout is funnier.

Is great weightless? or grace? .. or space? . ..

Time is one of my only wines
Or: 2 whine is the sum of thy lonely wines?

No


F youtility.

A proposed experiment with
time:

A man shaped by his

awkwardness

Do his sentiments betray

higher contemplation?

No


Pietry and happenstance.

Grind my bones
Until they’re dust
You can’t between me
and my must
Burn and churn ‘R’ sehole
with lust and lie
(‘Soul’ not ‘sea hole’)
((C’s don’t have any holes any
way,
look at M!
That’s Ohs! (Os!)))
also not e’s

I still get high from climbing trees &
I did not finish my degree,
Sheer irony of poetry,
Coming home with grazed up knees,
This does not mean
that I’m not me,
It is what it intends to be
^(Unwrap threads three that mean to me)

Atheism and theism are weeisms
Ricky Gervais – he is him (?
or David Brent?)                          ..David Brent

U Fat headed fat so
Your calypso collapse though
As long as your ellipse don’t
collapse
So as mine
Don’t imp lore me to
tell you its like over
time
Internet age
Into net rage
Oh thanks! Today we got
our wage slits? .. That’s mind?
T(0M!)hanks
i(t’)s good in films
Your rage made me slip,
thanks
I’m more at home in
S.C.U.M.my place
^(./not)          Than middle class in outer space
White is black and facts don’t
crack
You wear that face I win the
race
Even though your mind’s
erased
You trip it up -still think
I’m chased
Try thinking more if just for your own pace

SPACE

Friend to a T with gold tooth
face
Eritrean origin place
SAMO © yo jnt’s 2 laced
Define the wind of curves of grace
Slash my face -spray Puss on
face and in boots
In boots get yo (then) make
up
(‘N’ a sandwich?)
What a hinge
With a twinge and a singing sting
Make up in wound
string wound
down (&round?) in wound
Can feel the ring of
that luncheon thing
Have a car* (*Patwah:/Kyar../) though
Sandwiches
Now in you’re tuned now
Why not 100 luft balloon
y’loon
Born with greasy silver spoon
But my gosh don’t wash

Biology is therefore Bile-ology and (ringing bright Symbiotic) Symbiology.       ?
Big up †