well august is lawless so do what thou wilt the law is on holiday absent is guilt as them two went camping somewhere in wales or exmoor or dartmoor or yorkshire dales so cycle on pavements helmet & carefree then scrump a white peach off a ripe white peach tree with no reprisals just big wicked grins yes august is lawless let's relish this sin ...
i awoke in mid-april at 8 in the morning already it's springtime a year in a day come 9 it was may then come 3 o'clock august september tea time midnight - hogmanay ...
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 incident with the euphonium that triggered sheer pandemonium, the day it almost snowed in August heralding a darker dawn chorus or the time when you disguised your reflection yet it still looked exactly like you - aye ink all these things & write it right through ...
You'll never actually fly fly aye sadly that's ridiculous unless you have loads of feather-stuff attached to both your arm-things yet then you'd TWAT into the sea (cite daft Icarus) But there's always metaphor of course & beyond this in a sortofishy allegory plus dead tough drugs i.e Nurofen Plus a mate of mine once dropped 3. Fuckin' nutter ...
I woke up this mornin' under a sheet of tarpaulin, I forged a small air hole above m' head & then I went back to bed. Cuh! Who needs ditches nowadays eh? 'Drainage' 'Drainage' I hear you say. 'Drainage' 'Drainage' & you're probably right, for February 'tis known as the month of fill-dyke - no chucklin' in the corners please I know what you're like. 'Drainage' ...
resarf poetry 