Art

blubbering on

do not stand at my grave & weep

as i faked my own death

 i aint 6 six feet deep

there's a sack of maris pipers

in the coffin down there

whilst i live the high life

new i.d - elsewhere

so when you awaken in the morning shite

for me it might be evening, early afternoon or night

aye - so do not blubber at my graveside & that

instead fuck yourself rigid

you stupid fucking twat

x

...

memories of hilda

Whilst Winter blue skies

improvise

& experiment

with abstract mime

I thought of Hilda

with her wonky eyes

her prosthetic chin

her resurrected grin.





Her distinct body odour

aye - it's definitely over

there was asbestos in her loft

there were cobwebs in her shed

yes - the curate tried to warn her

about the shadow of madness

but oh my Hilda I killed 'er

& now she's dead dead dead

x

...

the monkey in me


Whilst climbing trees

to feel closer to God

& perchance

clasp the beard

of the cheeky old sod

something simian stirred

from pre-human history

in its current Chinese year

- it's the monkey in me.





Yes, there's a monkey in me

there's a monkey

 in you

there's a monkey in the vicar

& your mother

obviously too

as evolution does its things

in regards to time & ape

but we're not that different really

'cause everyone's primate

...