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 *