the novelty clock is adamant now that it's 10.23 & who are we to argue ? yes who are we to disagree ? as time & existence are mysteries beyond mere monday's wits & powers so nice 1 - it's 10.23 for 60 seconds then again erm in roughly 12 hours ... (author nodes ... written this gninrom)
Poem
great literary secrets
yes shakespeare was a thousand chimpanzees on typewriters bashing letters fraudulently until another play emerged not that there's a rush 'cause they had bags of time 'n' ink plus decent monkey-drugs ...
beyond jam
a weary jam maker lay nackered in bed & thought of all the jam that day they'd made then they thought of all the jam they hoped to make in the future closed their eyes & dreamed of lemon curd red currant jelly - MARMALADE ...
cripes! (part 322.5)
you're lost in lost in foggy frost about to go into STANDBY mode so think of the price of bamboo shoots your top 5 made-up bus routes pantaloons cantaloupes or the war of jenkins' ear press BACK UP or these thoughts will disappear ...
in search of that time honoured nature po-et-ry
i left by the back door at around 9.03 in search of that time honoured nature po-et-ry. the meh pedestrian usual shite i'm sure you've read 'n' heard that no one nowadays really writes just jiggles the words. but by by 9.07 (ish) the weather had turned shit the animals they scattered fast the nymphs they were amiss. so amidst this bastard shat i decided to head back then went home & penned the usual gubbins in hindsight - thank fuck for that x ...
boo!
when the original prankster-wanker first cried the word BOO they shat themself to kingdom come surprised themself too ...
consciously vague
it trickles in drips of drops of dribble whilst always just missing the tip of the tongue. it speaks with no language blank pages when written where once there was music old songs are unsung. but sometimes in places in daylight awakened yes briefly a twinkle a glimmer of inkle. yet never specifics lest what it all means i'm trying to remember last night's dream ...
maze tale
all directions they disappear all compasses are useless here. there are man-traps they're quite persistent all guides & maps are non-existent. no ball of thread for us to see the echoes are distractions no ariadne. then beyond the next left another dead-end blocks we shall demand a refund but for now we are lost ...
qqPkzhf&%””G^T~Vvry + Vtgf#~~n = Jhkhygtbdb.12JBbV~~~…? (a very old song)
halfway up a nosedive a bonnet in a bee inside hands are pockets encryption is the key. inside bats are belfrys where only the mute can sing within mendicants the wealthy beyond the end it's everything ...
vernal warning
if nothing else Spring has wandering hands it fondles these pastures gropes over this land it gets the unexpecting when they least suspect the dirty old beggar yes Spring is a pest ...
resarf poetry 