It must be pimped and bumped and bonked and donked until it has at least 81569724 endorsements. By order of decree of Martin.
---->


Oozes of Virgin SeptemberLet mild September crest Summer's dour vale, whose tantrums wanked the hills with muddy sponges, where clouds clobbered over fields of gasping cows.Oozes of Virgin September
I'm not the only one who saw the car headlights dilating in the rain, for the cats and foxes run fearful
behind the hedgerow. So little roadkill this autumn.
Yet the sea fog swept in this morning and it ate all the ramblers. I can still hear them hollering on the on-shore breeze. Only the gulls remain, harking from the shadows of waves, and one stock-stone corvid, craaring on a tree car


July Haiku-1-July Haiku
beside the motorway one and a half rabbits
-2-
night time; moths queuing at the cash machine
-3-
homecoming; on the windowsill six dead flies
-4-
at the airport the children dine on nose-pickings
-5-
an empty garden the snail mounts a football
-6-
slugs
lining up on the runway
-7-
night time in the nunnery garden foxes humping
-8- &n


The ArtistSo. I'm walking down the street, and I knowThe Artist
it's not going to be my fucking day, when this guy crouched on the ground snarks up at me,
'Oy! That's my artwork.'
And I look down and see
he's done one of these street drawings on the paving slabs;
a majestic sweeping landscape with fields and
waterfalls and volcanoes and my
size eleven shoe prints stomping across
a mountain range.
'Oops, shit, fuck, sorry.' And I step into the road.
I hadn't seen the tram, which knocked me high
into the air, and I landed face down
on the pavement, bo


MeowI have seen the kindest hearts of my generation wither from the fruitless duty of prolonging the thrashing of the dying old, whose feet grow mouldy from redundancy, whose voices hoarsen from screeching fearful into the night, whose minds can't remember the names of their visitors, nor the tasteless taste of the mush they spat out into the dimmed morning of breakfast.Meow
I have seen blackbirds chirruping as they hop back and forth
across the Barrier, as their ancestors migrated carefree
over the Wall, where bleeding men floundered watched and unaided in the death strip, as their
what can we make of you?
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
Make fishripples and soulbirds. Gun-music and windowtalk.
Make plastic trees and jelly rivers. Make bee leather and cow honey.
Make out of me the words of flies turn into sonnets and plays, and make the ants see the world from a bird's air-iced eyes.
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
--
Magic is destroyed by mediocrity.
--
Magic is destroyed by mediocrity.
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