Καλυψώ

tongue buried in mouth's hole

rejecting the poisons with a man's retching roar

Strawberries & snails sinking & rising in my cidercup

She gushes like piss

that seductive sunshine 

A ragged-arsed urchin

But the nagging persistence of the rain

you can touch & look but not possess or read

Spectacles are opaque with raindrops

the tawny fenlands

the aroma of crushed cloves

The paroxysm of an embrace

the priests of false holiness

the void is cancelled by our own assertion

Their faces shine from the effects of weather & soap

mild soft cheese & pickles in the rain

smile as though you ate the sun for breakfast

real sabbath trousers

how unestatic of them

little yellow cups of Prunelle Boyer

sniff the smoky November day

Years of spirit genius engineering

do not be too overawed by wide open spaces

love France by all means but love your own language first

a foul smelling perfume of decaying brilliance

like a diamond thinly coated in excrement 

& till the mouth opens we don't know what's going to come out

kind is a world/is a word lacking intention like a chip done in Frymax

like a cold shower of eels

when you're in love with a married woman 

you shouldn't wear mascara 

eating my breakfast in my honeysuckle arbour

flashing blue light

a strong smell of burning onions

don't knock fresh bread if you've always had plenty on the shelf 

going up the pike with only a teaspoon & a can of Corimist

in the kitchens with the avocados

a piece of chocolate sweating in the sun

in a velvet liaison with her boulevards

the strawberries were ripening

my ideas were turning blonde

the sky glazes over the purified volcanoes

it will soon be 2pm in the charcoal afternoon 

dusk will come before tea

a reply to the lobster or a Moon solo

"Is this the ambulance or the way to the hot dog stand?"

friendly academic barflies

the blue salmon

purple shoes are dancing on a whiff of fading sandalwood 

elemental my dear Hudson

the taste of copper pennies

Get me a drink more powerful than dreams

All this bacon is too much

like a bayleaf in the sky

is that a scar or a drop of Kölsch on the white rock maple

lair before home except after tea

fickle as corduroy clean as your hair

The salt & vinegar man 

Gritty sandwich on the beach and salt on the skin

At night they lie in bed & hold hands counting the stars

a crispy leaf torn away in air

old already born this year

the life of oysters and the life of Reilly are not to be compared

i am a doughnut

Schubert spoke to me in the bath

this cat is wearing a noisy coat

ah little pen it's deep midwinter

a patrician head

* This found poem was created using words borrowed from John James: a poet and one of DG's favourite university lecturers *

Veronica's Diary

Dear Diary...

Heather told me she teaches people real life. She said, real life sucks losers dry. If you want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly.

I said, so you teach people how to spread their wings and fly? 

She said, Yes.

I said, You're Beautiful...

===

I want to kill and you have to believe it's for more than just selfish reasons; more than a spoke in my menstrual cycle. You have to believe me. 

Christ, I can't explain it, but I'm allowed an understanding that my parents and these Remington University assholes have chosen to ignore. I understand I MUST STOP HEATHER.

===

Betty Finn was a true friend and I sold her out for a bunch of Swatchdogs and Diet Cokeheads. Killing Heather would be like offing the Wicked Witch of the West. Or is it East? West! I sound like a fucking psycho. 

Tomorrow I'll be kissing her aerobicized ass, but tonight, let me dream of a world without Heather. A world where I am free.

===

Dear Diary,

My teen angst bullshit now has a body count. The most popular people in the school are dead.  Everybody's sad, but it's a weird kind of sad. Suicide gave Heather depth, Kurt a soul, Ram a brain. I don't know what it's given me, but I have no control over myself when I'm with JD. Are we going to prom or to hell?

===

Heather told everyone about Heather. Yes, Dear Diary, I've cut off Heather Chandler's head and Heather Duke's head has sprouted back in its place like some mythological thing my eighth grade boyfriend would have known about. Heather's even doing the old note trick.  

I've seen JD's way. I've seen Miss Pauline Fleming's way. And nothing has changed. I guess that's Heather's way. And Jesus, what about JD? I can't get him out of my head.  Wait...where's Heather going?

===

Dear Diary – last entry. No one can stop JD. Not the FBI, the CIA, or the PTA. He once told me that the extreme always makes an impression. Well, now it’s my turn. Let’s see how the son-of-a-bitch reacts to a suicide he didn't commit himself.

* Diary entries taken from the film 'Heathers' *

Seven Sevens Are Forty-Nine

======

Below is a fragment of an article the Domestic Goblin wrote for the first issue of a fanzine, Dyslexics Untied, which was started by a school friend back in the nineties.

Due to the subject matter, significant sections/sentences have been omitted for this post in case the article is taken too seriously. 

======

• Stomach pills
• Contraceptive pills
• Strawberry centred chocolates
• Painkillers
• Spicy flavoured crisps
• Cigarettes
• Dettol

The Walking Grape.

S'all Good Man

 Yuppie Lawyer outfit

• Single breasted suit cut with high arm holes and trim through the middle. 
• Cloth: Navy pinstripe in Super 170 Tasmanian wool.
• Shirts: Sea Island cotton with a white club collar and French cuffs and real mother of pearl buttons.
• Ties: Light blue knit.
• Shoes: Gucci loafers.
• Hair colour: Sassafras Glow mixed with Strawberry fields forever and Rhapsody in blond.
• Hairstyle: Ringlets on top like Tony Curtis in the bath scene in Spartacus.
• Trademark brand: Tri-rectangle graphic and Hamlindigo blue.

Yuppie Lawyer Office

• Cocobolo desk

* Information derived from an episode of Better Call Saul' *

The Husband Store

• A store that sells new husbands has just opened in New York City, where a woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates:

  You may visit this store ONLY ONCE!

  There are six floors and the value of the products increase as the shopper ascends the flights. The shopper may choose any item from a particular floor, or may choose to go up to the next floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building!

  So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband. On the first floor the sign on the door reads:

  Floor 1 - These men Have Jobs.

  She is intrigued, but continues to the second floor, where the sign reads:

   

  Floor 2 - These men Have Jobs and Love Kids.

  'That's nice', she thinks, 'but I want more.'

   

  So she continues upward. The third floor sign reads:  

  Floor 3 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, and are Extremely Good Looking.

   'Wow,' she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.

   

  She goes to the fourth floor and the sign reads:

   Floor 4 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Good Looking and Help With Housework

   'Oh, mercy me!' she exclaims, 'I can hardly stand it!'

   

  Still, she goes to the fifth floor and the sign reads:

  Floor 5 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Gorgeous, Help with Housework, and Have a Strong Romantic Streak.

    

  She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor, where the sign reads:

  Floor 6 - You are visitor 31,456,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store.

   

   

  PLEASE NOTE:

  To avoid gender bias charges, the store's owner opened a New Wives store just across the street.

   

  The first floor has wives that love sex.

   

  The second floor has wives that love sex and have money.

   

  The third, fourth, fifth and sixth floors have never been visited.

  
  

  * This was sent by a friend many moons ago * 

• 
  

dEUS

Lyrics to Opening Night 

And so the hounding begins
a sudden crack on the shins
whip stinging say oh hello
you look like someone I know
while sniggering up your sleeve
a kid a joke just like we
guys in a schoolyard aged five
the baddest honcho alive
track down your friends to a bar
trace over steps in a car
say that's a pretty excuse
make mine a pineapple juice
bugbears are plenty round here
give him a clip on the ear
says dad in front of TV
decide channel randomly
I feel something coming on
a funny turn or a wrong
decision made casually
like dad in front of TV
regurgitation and goo
ten squillion eyes watch as you
put up a pretty good fight
on this your opening night...