death’s curative curtains

now he’s in heaven

professor steven hawking

mud wrestles angels

( author notes )

i’ve been thinking a lot about
professor stephen hawking
again recently

not so much for his science
i.e writing some unreadable bollocks
about time & blackholes
or inventing the daleks
on his home planet of skaro

no, not that professor stephen hawking

but the singer, professor stephen hawking
his unique range, tone & delivery
on tracks like the club banger
blue with eiffel 65
or around the world
his daft punk collaboration
or of course – we are the robots
his sick kraftwerk mash-up

now, that to me
is professor stephen hawking
his one-off style
a true maverick
such an underrated vocalist
probably the vox g.o.a.t
but he lives on in his music

( amen )

lost in muse muesli

purring like a cataract

as a splatter of a splatter of a fact

      mattering like missing links

      glugging like those kitchen sinks

smiling like the morning sun

choking like a smoking gun

      gloaming like the even’ tide

      falling fast – with her abide

floating like a sylphid friend

futures blooming past the bend

      dancing like the pants of ants

      blessing like a second chance

sneezing like a garden gnome

larking while the statues roam

      shining like an eggheads crown

     if the noon is booming down

bucking like a fucking mule

steaming like a bowl of gruel

      rocky like gibraltar’s strait

      wonky like the curate’s gait

likeable – just like a like

rideable like old school bikes

      such is her analogy

      like another – simile

( & don’t forget )

a waterproof

your backdoor key

the spear of destiny

a pen, a pad

a can of ginger beer

a cardigan

a mars bar

frankincense

myrrh

vaseline

rubber johnnies

garlic cloves

chewy toffee

silver bullets

toothbrush, toothpaste

pickled peppers

five gold rings

my bow of burning gold

my arrows of desire

firelighters

safety matches

ants in your pants

fire extinguisher

rubber chickens

bucket loads of brevity

pickled peppers

a wanker hat

the kitchen bloody sink

& your memory

four seasons in one may

green becomes greener
      as rabbits multiply
vivaldi’s slinky
      slithers down the stairs

then clouds disappear
      as if never effing here
shafts from the nearest star
      tan the garden gnomes

next the air turns like
      the tumble drier
of judas iscariot
      & frisks the haunted orchard

sooner than a should
      & shivers climb our spines
so the apple blossom snows
      her iced-white petals