dolt

put the penis in there
then see how we chop it off
it's a nice surprise -- see!
now you try.

i very gently engage the handle
and with one effortless snip
i am become a whole woman

with blood on the floor
and a chopped off penis
i put it in the bin on the way out
'enjoy your new life'
the nice attendant says

i walk through town
leaving a trail of blood
idly looking in the window of a few shops

when i notice he's looking at me
the hairy man with a red nose
(i can see him in the reflection)

i start to run but it's getting late
he just keeps following i catch a quick look
think he has a knife in his hand

so i start trotting and rush towards a bar
press in through the door
it's warm inside i sit down and order

a gin and tonic. but then i notice everyone looking
groups of guys, there's blood all over my legs
of course so i finish my drink

and open my handbag and grab my phone
then quickly call the number
which is the number of the bomb

and the entire bar explodes killing everyone
except me as it is a special man bomb
(it only kills men as it targets dicks) so i am quite safe

walking over the entrails and broken glass
i nearly slip in my new high heels
but steady myself on a piece of man's jugular hanging from the window

it's not a very firm support
but it'll do for a few seconds
while i regain control

post hoe day

so the party that no one wanted to win won
'no one' the ones that matter
the others matter too but we will take care of them
they don't need to matter
in the great equilibrium
we would have took care of them
in our safari park
but they voted for the farmer party
the party with the big mysterious shiny factory
in the Cayman islands
we are all different kinds of cattle, ultimately
but some cattle just seem to like the farmer
i admire their sacrifice
it is easier to sacrifice of course while looking at a trinket
the farmer party has the best trinkets
tossing them into the herd
as the calves are led away
tossing them into the herd
as the calves and then the rest of us
are led away to the mincing machine

Beelzebub in the bathtub

Jesus sitting in the bath

putting on an ointment

i ask him "is it ok to be

jesus or would you rather

be beelzebub"

he answers (after a while)

better to be Jesus

but beelzebub has his merits

he runs a tighter shop than me

his profits are higher

he has a better earnings to price ratio

his hires more staff

Jesus trails off

"what ointment is that?" i ask

oh it's just some lube

he says

and after that we became lovers for the rest of all time (actually not that long!)

share the love

share the love around
if you have some love to share
if you have no love
then here's some of mine to share

now sink your teeth in deeply
till the blood comes out
till your gums are bleeding
till the world burns out

burning fast and spinning
like a dying clothes dryer
share the love it's fleeting
and the world is getting dryer

the poems are getting wetter
the lives are getting shorter
the poems are certainly better
their lives are certainly shorter

i bought a little piece of the world
it cost a lot of money
but it's an investment
i'll sell it and get more money

banal i know & i love it
here's some more to share
and here's some more of my love
i really like to share it

they say there is a deficit
of love to go around
but it's not so, not at all
my love is all over these burning grounds

cut your teeth baby
my love is hot as rock
don't turn away,
my love is gonna rock
my love is gonna rock

sponsored by the totally fucked party

the way to silence

a very noisy clock
in this room
 louder than the cars
on the highway

and the dark
it whines a tune
 like static
electricity

my body
petitioning me
 on all its old aches
and concerns

sitting.

chuckles rising
 alongside farts
 reeking with the absurdity
of my condition

Bungonia

i took a pen and paper
to take things down
but fell a fast asleep
into the long night drink
spinning onto the dark tack
like a water boatman
chalking the surface
with rippled moonlight

i was going to write
about Bungonia
the state's oldest recreation
area--a stamp of bush
argyle apple and peppermint
their soft caramel bark
and silver leaf melodies
pouring into a gorge
of grass trees
and limestone faces
conversing around a bend of sand

but i lay there under those trees
and slept instead
and the holy ground there it drinks
it steals the rivulets
deep into the soil
where yellow caverns
make foul aired tombs
and domed chambers to decay
the final vestiges
of visitors from upstairs

like us (me and my three boys)
with head torches
breathing hard that morning
as we corkscrew down a crack
and land with the detritus
washed down in a rainfall
among lost bugs and white bones
or wood that's grown a white beard
the modern corpses of the daylight
returned to Precambrian silence

the Earth here is drinking deeply
taking down the bruised bodies
of the sun's creation
inhaling all his creatures
she digests them all
into a profound slime
mysteriously deep, beyond
where even well-equipped cavers go
the dark dreamy water lost
somewhere between absorption
and an eternal efflux

but she didn't get us
we chimneyed out
and lay on flat rocks
warming ourselves like dinosaurs
plucked out of the mud
my son lost a wobbly tooth
and i restored with this pen
a memory from oblivion
to withhold it for a day
or a week or even ten years
or a century from the night
but never forever

new year post

perhaps the pantaloons poetry is too expressive
or nonsense or computer generated—whatevs
I cannot keep up with it
But do enjoy the mostly invisible feeling
 (as my friend she sits near and taps)

41+ years on,
the perspective has changed alright
is it just noise?
or just faster (and faster) cars ?
Dylan's Welsh tidbit biscuit fare..

I used to know myself
the flow of words seems so absurd now
seems the end is night
every morning in bed about 3am
the dark thinks crowd around and stare

trying to locate some grommet of certainty
or a pleasure node somewhere there in the abyss
or inside another person or inside me
a hole to comfort, an escape hole
a latch hole, a hidey hole, a pocket of tricks

oh God the slightest movement of a chair
imbibed in silence, contains all the secrets
the pathetic secrets, oh God the pathos

boiling down the year to its end
the essence is sticky, sweet, ugly
little dead insects in it
dark burnt umber in it
it's a useless sauce, nobody is surprised tho

reaching for certainty sticks with the mind
but the mind doesn't stick—dump the mind
dump the mind
dump the meandering mind
the careening animal mind

find the fool
there they are in the corner,
recognisable in that old party hat
ask them for a dance
see them rise slowly and come forward
an opening dance
for the new year [2019]