An ironing board is like the bored teenagers on the promenade. The bored teenagers on the promenade are like hurdlers. Hurdlers are like weightlifters. Weightlifters are like gilded gravel in the bowl. Gilded gravel in the bowl is like an orchestra like a loose dressing-gown cord like sutlers. Sutlers are like guests like merchants under parasols. Merchants under parasols are rucked like a curtain. A curtain is like a bullock a bullock is like shadows that follow the shadows that follow are as smart as a griddle cooling against the wall as smart as the jacks on playing-cards that pop up as if they were dogs. As if they were dogs or like a reader who was half-asleep. A reader who was half-asleep is like Neanderthal Man like footprints over the sandflats. Footprints over the sandflats are like a woman who opens a door and hears music. A woman who opens a door and hears music is sagging like a tired dish. A tired dish is like a tape-recorder like scalded tea-leaves like engravings under tissue paper like a mantelpiece frog like useless chimney stacks like Falstaffian generals. Falstaffian generals are like an exhumed gourd like a breeze like broad sunflowers of empty circumspection like a Welsh rarebit like a bar of light like clockwork like patches from a cycle kit like a tiny English Channel like leaves on the cold sea like a watermark. A watermark is like the smouldering one-off spoor of the yeti. The smouldering one-off spoor of the yeti is sharp as tears. Tears are like soft cheeses like an examination or some vast dinner party or like a melon wedged in a shopping-bag. A melon wedged in a shopping-bag is like lichen. Lichen is like lead. Lead is like an ironing board like the bored teenagers on the promenade.

from A book with no name - work in progress


Popular posts from this blog

Not The Jungle Book

My Collected Poems – an update

from THE GREY AREA: The Old Dick