Poems. By Magnificent Guffaw.
Channel 906
Floundering like a lost cod at the lowest ebb
I set crab legged in awe of a mass of thigh and writhing buttocks
mute
I cannot hear a thing
yet call the number flashing red on screen
I wallow in high tide
the terms on conditions last for eternity
then a seductive smoky voice asks me my name
I say Mike from Bradford
she asks me what turns me on
I tell her
anything unnatually uncomfortable like this
* * * * *
Surburban escape plan
Three hours of sunlight
its getting worse then Sweden
with frost, petty shivers and condensation
and a timid grey skyline not helped by TV's sunny disposition.
Smiling newsreaders shuffle paper
at the end of a chilling broadcast
mourning the loss of more innocent lives
I could settle this all over a game of cards
and a glass of stiff
Fred Astaire keeps dancing long after the vanishing
limiting us to a web of memories from
misanthropology to madness to the realisation
of many wasted hours you'll never get back
* * * * *
Drag him
Insides they crumble like Lincoln cathedral
after a crowd of cowboy builders
fuck up the scaffolding and the tower comes crashing down
in a spiral of brilliant destruction
Me and her watch all this holding hands
the commotion continues for an hour without going anywhere,
when i'm with her who I will not name as the time is not appropriate
my stomach it drums like Keith Moon in an agitated pit of fire
fuelled by vice tempered with caution
without her I am everything
free and safe
the world is mine and I cherish it all.
* * * * *
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