Magnolia Jesus( Extracts from A Child’s First Book Of Piss Breaks)
As the merest kiss of icing sugar snow
blankets the floor,
a circle relief slowly peeps from the frosting.
(the medical bit)-An itchy foreskin means you know where
the treasure is buried and
a throbbing vulva means you are
coming into money.
The Call Centre Associate
in a prison without visitors
(disposable nappy available for pellet or pancake).
The Fruit Picker (Grade 1-6)adding sprinkles to dessert.
The Warehouse Operative splattering the
BBC Radio 4 Book of the Week,
‘How To Be A Tree’(£12.99)
(Piss is a medium category swear word, preferable is pee).
An itchy foreskin means you know where
the treasure is buried and
a throbbing vulva means you are
coming into money(£12.30 per hour).
The beast of cardboard burden in a rainforest stocked with fresh strung fruit,
brimming with Eco hound Oceanex(Cherry Blossom Scented).
Eight hours on, one waterfall piss
Jesus by the light of a garden lamp,hands on hips,
a three minute crucifix.
Poorhouse in Llantrisant
Monday- Bread and cheese with milk
Tuesday- Beef and roots
Wednesday- Flummery with milk
Thursday- Flummery with milk
Friday- Flummery with milk
flavoured by the hand of God
with salted caramel and christmas tree
for Flummery and poverty
are never far apart and
recipes endure*
*ordure
Buy my odor or this could be you
Your mille feuille high pile perches on the abandoned bookshelf
gingerly composting in folds
baking muck sweat and spunk* and dissipating piss
creating perpetual passion** from the attar
of microscopic critters.
*this word is now obsolete. It is last recorded around the 1810’s
**erase by soaking in white vinegar with a hint of disinfectant(but not the dettoly smelly one). Give it a try. It might help. Perhaps.
Yeah, this could do it,maybe.
Blue Plaque to Dame Christabel Pankhurst
unveiled at 50, Clarendon Road, Notting Hill
Fishwives,teachers,nurses,
Pit Brow girls,Laundresses,
Tin Plate workers,Factory girls,
Tailoresses.
Domestic servants,Box makers, Shirt makers,
Three Penny uprights.
Convenience Store Model
The slushee machine was working
and she was punching along the runway in sex pyjamas to
the buy scratch buy scratch buy scratch beat repeat of a
lindychasing pack
Oh immaculate conception, the slushee machine was working
and she paid for fags with pennies in a dog shit bag.
Hey, it’s money honey.
He stood guardstill facing the slushee machine sign
as if awaiting joyshock hand manipulation but
the porridge colour of his puss had spread to his clothing
rendering him largely unmilkable.
The slushee machine isn’t working declared the sign and
she and he stood shoulder to shoulder, feet planted in the autochthonous
blue pool. Noses, eyes, brows, mouths copied and thrown at the rearranging reinforced glass.
Hey,the slushee machine is in a perpetual state of working
or not working.
That’s the immaculate assumption, honey
Accomplice*
if I ever think of you it is with a void of face
and if I ever think of you it is tucked in a hazy claggy tone of pink
hitherto unknown to human escapade
and if I ever think of you
it is with a sated maltodextrin desire** deduced
in sat on thin slices
one day we shifted
*a co-worker is someone you work with. Your ice cream shop
co-worker might scoop the ice cream while you’re on
milkshake duty
**please do not buy anything from Adam and Eve
Chopsing with Frank
The first shall be last and the last shall be first, Frank said
that’s from episode 42
of the telly series Kung Fu,
‘This Valley Has Terror’*
No butty questioned Frank
The first shall be last and the last shall be first, Frank said
and the last butty through the valley better not be all hat and no cattle see. Frank
said that. God bothering.
*this creation has been questioned outside of Ebbw Vale
Puppetry with small rodents
A treadmill in every kitchen(corner shelf)
to host a children’s entertainer
where death is just a different box and
life the space between a change of straw.
June. Still no sign of Jesus.
Elementary school kids scorch donuts in tarmac to the doleful soundtrack of a
3 hole shuffle
homeric circumnavigation of the mini roundabout
(that me butty persists has always been there)
spawns plumbers applause and
retail whores line the streets one deep dragon grill hotdog in fist
pining for a glimpse of grey a sighting of celebrity retired nurse*,
enough to concoct a pint worthy homily for the conts in the snug
white boiler suits,backpacks,torches,ladders
a frantic search conducted at pall bearer pace
(think unplanned fire drill in a library)
never plant x3 and tight knit cardigans x4
heirlooms that mutter grotesque familiarities,
the value of entity **measured solely in suitcase capacity.
Death and
life***
the distance between two mouths gasping for air.
June. Still no sign of Jesus.
*we don’t want any sense of panic,said polis
**we lay insentient in the gloom of our briefly rented room as black damp filled
each inch. Time set about to fashion sutures for our jaws
***I always thought there would be more magicians
