yahoo
yup but
rght now, i just woke u[p and look like
an oyster someone dropped in sawdust

down the street, the townies thud in their uggboots
and gloss stockings
the fat one sucking a slim little penis:
her glow-tipped dry white cigarette.


*

in the grey loam of his mind, the Thought begins its disinterment. Stirring, slow, through the soft grey soil it puts out its grey hands, slowly, patient, and begins to unbury itself, to crawl slowly up through the ash dust dark through to the conscious surface. he feels it stir in the grey loam, feels the loam shift, the ground shift, and has to sit down on the park bench. he knows he will see it soon - he will see its hands (if there are any fingers left) and it will put its face up too, drey dry-rotten and stretched, gravity-graven, with some of the features worn out by worms, some of the features gone now into lost dust, so he knows that when he sees the face, when it is there before him all fresh from the grave in his mind, he still will not quite see it; it will be like a person trying to remember a face, unable to fully recall - a general impression, gapped with grey. and it stirs and shifts, and he sits on the bench, and he wonders if the grey hands will still have fingers.

looking at the bridge of sighs, i saw a duck in the swim with six drakes. i counted the drakes. yes, six. six drakes and one duck. she was pretty. their heads gleamed green, the drakes. they quacked and lunged at each other's tails, fending each other off - two, in particular, seemed in conflict. one, in particular, seemed dominant. then, whoever was presently winning would sidle up to the duck and she seemed nervous of the attention, yet she didn't try to get away, she'd let whoever it was sidle up beside her; furtive, but somehow so gently serene, so fragile and at risk in the winter summer light.

i hear you pigeon.
your beautiful coo.

maybe it was gaining the hour; time suspended an hour, a free hour, as england put its clock's back.
the time changed overnight and for the free hour, for a few free hours, i guess i let myself too.
a halloween party. a pantyhose strangled tart.
six-seven.