Thursday, December 24, 2020

 Thursday, December 24th, 2020

Xmas Eve Prompts, 13:05


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Guttering full of pigeon-shit, butt-ends, matches
At twenty-three miles, cobblestones


To understand the pull of blood
Odd flowers in a wrong-sized bowl
To the toilet after Mum

The cervix, mother packed with lead
My foisted middle name, Vincent (after de Paul)
Embarrassed by the smell of bum

The tick-tick-tick of a passing cyclist
Confetti, given time turns brown and rots Now God sends hailstones


Mam has gone to Mars. Shall I take a message?
Mass Murder, Sicily
He also ran a carpet shop in the Grand Bazaar


What if one night we all start counting stars?
I sometimes wonder about Puerto Rico
The pigeons leave a feather behind


We all deserve a bitchy friend
I had no inkling, never could
Monday Washing, Tuesday Poems, Wednesday Beating


She emerges, immaculate, from squalor
I am an ancient desk, your arm a heavy lid, with scratches
Called cunt in front of the kids


The commissionaire who made us paper boats
I am experimenting, cross-breeding Tories with Humans
I miss the yacht I haven’t got, the Rolls


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