Although Madame disappeared

When the lawn whispered

“Dear, Pretty Mouth”

She can still feel the wind in cafés

And nurseries,

which never are an egg of stillness for dolls

Eight spoons of cream moves dearly.

There will be more forever.

She, still too gone

For whispers “Oh!” and “Soon!”





The images which float by our eyes uninvited

are the saddest, cruelest stories

Disguised by the absence of melancholy

Taking on the tone of a friend

Wishing to make you sicker

than their solution can cure

“A whispered remark”, might just be the thing!

Yer wan; hairy, bumpy, messy and irresponsible with a sick dishwasher.

No tits and no strapless bra.

None of the products which claim to have invented maternal love

Smelly biology and wrong make-up;

Clumpy mascara and and bleeding gums.

Don’t you wonder why you even try, to do anything right?

But Praise The Lord: your upper lip can be saved.

Thank you, Jesus!




Great News!

More poems for you to not read!

Sitting still and whispering “Never”.

Momentary stays of confusion,

Not for you any time soon.

Some still, windy mouths leaking

Festooned, suffocated shouts.

Statues pointing the finger.

Puzzles you can do without.


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