Thursday, April 13, 2006


Septimius my beloved friend swings
beyond the genius of the sea
In a landscape of
Poppers & spilt milk
If I cannot talk because your biting
George Michaels the line
Or rest home in Cheltenham

No squeezy balls
When I am
Buster’s The Meaning Of Language
Clamps the tone like a
Donut the fortune-teller mentions
A metal tray of endless
Love in incontinence or wish for garlands
The Carpetbaggers Bagvhad-Gita Mike & Bernie’s Blondes
On your chopper when I am spilt ash
No friends
Would ask for less

—Tim Atkins (after Horace)


Post a Comment

<< Home