SIMILAR.

There were only so many perfect legs in the world,
The others being pillars,
Or mere stocking fillers,
And she had them all.

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She was the best unsupported
Actress at that year’s swollen
Globes awards for her performance in
More Ounce to the Bounce.

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She was a blind date
Who nearly saw out the night;
The kind of fate
That’s almost right.

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She had a corrugated flue tube,
And I, a concertinaed penis,
But when we got together
You couldn’t find a spark between us.

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She’s ripped your head off, and body legs,
And bit your arm bones thru;
Chewed into your torso tank
And gargled on your juices.

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A double ended broom handle
Was needed to keep her candles lit,
As her switch could not be flipped
By any normal creatures kit.

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Even her faith in terraced streets
Had faltered recently, whose lanes
Were strewn with the lazy waste
Of drunken fools playing house.

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She had less weight in her words than her face,
And the air of her actions embraced
All the breath in the room that emerged
From the latest admirer purged.

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She had to watch what she ate,
Well at least until it reached
Her lips, which incidentally
Were the first to cause fights in night clubs.

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She got busted by Customs
Coming home from France;
All that crash bang wallop bollocks
Made her think.

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She had a rather pinched aspect while walking,
And a perilous angle on the spot;
A rude undertone on the lean,
And was leaden aloud when she dropped.

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She was a rice picker,
A chicken plucker,
A duck stuffer,
And there were many more like her.

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Her amazing back balancing act
Was all the more spectacular for the fact
That her spine was at a ninety degree angle
To her abilities.

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She lay on her side
For her belly to slide;
Oh the salve, the lotion,
The friction of the motion.

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I whistled like a wolf,
But a cat replied,
Asking for the nature
Of my call.

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Her outline was etched onto the work bench
In the cellar, where mould had grown on
Months old sweat, so that when she left my
House her silhouette remained.

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The gap between best and next
Is a splinter of a second,
But she ended up last, on her arse,
With her broken legs to heaven.

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At the wedding do
We looked like two
Whales out of water
At a penguin party.

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Beneath the train was a single track with no other
Either side; apparently there was no way back
On this ride, though unlike flying, there were
No extra dimensions to die in.

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At my core
I have no pips to procreate,
Therefore she’s willing me
Fertility.

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She had to find somewhere
More plausible a place,
With a cause less
Visibly embraced.

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That flat mouth pout of hers told
You everything you needed to know,
As she hitched a tit up,
Like old ladies did.

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I slept all day
And worked at night,
As I couldn’t stand,
Let alone lay beside her.

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Please take note,
My fashionable friend,
That traditions will still be popular
When trends end.

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Do I approach you in your place of employment and
tell you what to do; if that’s the case then it must be
time for a woman or someone in a wheelchair, as
your paucity exhibits a richness of embarrassment.

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She’s fucked at night
Under covers,
Not in day light
By lovers.

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Surely the soul ages the same as all else,
All those badly weakened body parts
And disintegrating brains
Must expect the spirit to do the same.

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The first war was fought for colour,
The second aggression sight,
The third in time for summer,
The fourth conflict for night.

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Child, go back to the vacuum
Packed room you came from,
For death has left us a homework
Moment to resolve.

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The right cut of cloth,
And shape of stride,
Tight single vent,
And belly ride.

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He’s a right dirty man with blood on his hands,
But says that he’s a doctor,
Though I don’t believe him because I’ve seen him heaving
His smock up.

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The longest resuscitation scene
Since the last one left me
Breathless and gasping
Whilst trying to attract her attention.

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There was an unhealthy selection
Of things thrown in her yard,
Although it was nowhere
Near the road.

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There was no date upon her
As all her form was even,
But there’s not much worse
Than a plain blond worked on.

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This is about as far as you can fall
And still remain conscious,
But you have to remember that
One day you’ll rise again, though maybe this isn’t it.

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I try to date the damage
That’s been recently observed,
But like the corrosiveness of oxygen,
It has always been there.

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I’ll love again when Christians have passed,
And there is no Islam,
When Hindu’s forgo caste,
And Judaism psalms.

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The matchstick bridge,
Which from afar seemed whole,
Was splintering up close
And losing all perspective.

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What little spirit she had left
Feathered from her chest,
And leaked away
Behind her glass case.

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The molasses had been removed
From her roots too soon
For me to judge her flavour
As anything more than bland.

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She had a regular collection of facial scenery,
But once removed to other shores I could not convene it,
Though granted it must have had a semblance of style,
Otherwise we’d not be here discussing her appeal

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Her plastic masked face was set gleaming
By the thought of recording the semen
That was pumped up her raw liver chambers
By a thousand and one eager strangers.

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She lost her heart to a britches maker,
A pants creator, a crutch draftsman,
A knickers etcher, a fucking draws drawer.
Or was it her arse...

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She lived beyond the edges of the furthest peripheries,
And drifted into town in summer time,
To spread her rewards and that seasons’ syphilis,
And pickle our particulars in brine.

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She’s got disease that sees, to my
Displeasure,
That I get to breathe in the either of
Her treasure.

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Her patio was paved with gravestones
Whose words had long ago allowed
The wind to dust them down,
Obscuring their owners.

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One decision from oblivion,
Or uncontained thought,
A fissure in the vision
And a slip away from knot.

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Now I’ve given up my giving in,
And refused their refuse collection,
I’ve cradled the bow that I have broken,
And injected my own infection.

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As you thank all the people who came
You realize you won’t see them again,
Until one of their kinsmen is gone,
Or a child is submerged in a font.

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And if you feel you don’t belong,
Then come and join the club;
Membership is free for life,
But therein lies the rub.

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