Poems for Perfect People

By Simon Brisenden

Contents Vegetablism Favourite Perversions Dirty Talk Pork Talk Mills and Boon Seasons of Love Scars On the Death of a South African Poet Strange Mystique I Motorway Somebody Elsewhere The Interrogation Mr Insignificant Vandalise It Completey Non-Sexist Mans Blues New Technology Hes Looking for a Thing With a Hole In It Penetration Gay Machismo Shit Pleasure Revolution Out to Lunch Almost Everything Born Again Poet Body Language America is Waiting in the Kitchen Adult Movies Cruelty without Beauty What Enemies But of Mine I Am By Some Oasis Parade England Is Love and Peace Local News A True Story On the Motorway First Person Absent Poison Letter Jam Rocket Pad When I Grow Up A Mothers Song Oppressor

Vegetableism I am a child of the earth I've been a vegetable since birth I went to a school for vegetables and learnt how to go with meat I grew up and wore the stigma of being something people eat and in my very early vegetable days I went through a religious phase and asked God why he had made me just to drown in a pool of gravy but his answer was not detectable so I became a Marxist vegetable and bringing in elements of a feminist critique I formed a vegetable liberation clique the vegetable is political I said and tried to undermine the state we advocated passive resistance to the knife the fork and the plate and now I am writing a history in three volumes (from a post-structuralist point of view) of all the anonymous vegetable victims who have perished in hot-pot or stew.

Favourite Perversions You're Scott of the Antarctic and I'm a polar bear you're Livingstone in Africa and I'm a slave out there you're Tarzan the ape-man I'm a creeper round your tree you're James Dean in his car the steering-wheel is me I'll drive you to distraction I'm your favourite perversion you're A1 Capone's finger and I'm a bullet in his gun you're the Foreign Legion and I'm the burning sun you're the Roman Empire and I'm its rise and fall you're Queen Victoria and I'm the Albert Hall you're Marco Polo and I'm the continents you've seen you're Bogart in a movie and I'm the African Queen I'm the leeches sucking out your poison I'm your favourite, flavourite perversion you're the last of the Mohicans and I'm Running Bear you're the politburo and I'm the moonlight in Red Square you're Michelangelo's wrist and I'm Venus de Milo you're nuclear war and I'm a missile in its silo you're a spoilt little child and I'm anything you fancy you're Ronald Reagan and I'm what you do to Nancy I an the President's plastic surgeon I'm your favourite, savour it perversion.

Talking Dirty Having you around is becoming a chore all this talking dirty is getting such a bore I really didn't mind at first sharing your concerns all that stuff about orgasms and the law of diminishing returns and all that naming of parts really was quite fun when it comes to sex you just name the tune in one but lately a suspicion lurks that my function in your life is doing all the dirty work of your emotional housewife now you know I'm not a prude and I sort of like it when you're rude but your trouble is my treasure you're confusing sex with pleasure but then maybe what we're doing all this cud we're chewing is something quite like screwing and because I love you really I won't ask you to stop although it's now become quite clear to me that you're the one on top.

Pork Talk. God is a worm on the turn he's an impossible accident darling in this clone zone one minute to midnight and he's nowhere in sight just pork talk in front of the TV and in bars on the streets and in Macdonald's indoors outdoors up my arse bankers and wankers and people in cars porking up and down in dirt using and losing and cruising and looking for a hand up some skirt my front room your front room I wouldn't give them the time of day it's the way they're dragged up and drugged up degenerating masturbating they're just animals I don't call them human they're turning out fools from all the schools pork talk pork talk pork talk darling please listen to me I'm getting desperate I haven't had a joint since tuesday I'll pay you in cash or I'll pay you in kind just give me a chew on your rind I'm a disease I'm acne I hate myself I'm an impossible shrew who you still like to screw when you've been out for a few with the pigs just a quick half a rasher and you're a wife basher and you never look me right in the eye you kick and you punch then I get your lunch 0 I'm so desperate and inebriate on valium and mogadon I'd commit suicide but my mother

says it's what you take on when you live with bacon just pork talk pork talk pork talk if it's not the miners it's the hippies bastards what right have they got it's not Russia you know I pay my taxes and 1 want the fun of seeing all the fucking queers get done mine's a pint.and a chaser and a packet of crisps no need to hurry still time for a curry and I wouldn't mind tackling that bit of pork cracklin, snort snigger fart piss down the wall on the way home if I can get that far in the car kill a few morons who should be in the army anyway if I had my way which I probably will or I might watch a bit of video first to get up a thirst with me mates pull up a seat put up your plates then leave beg your pardon I've got a pork hard-on before you learn to walk you learn to do the pork talk I'm not crude or lewd darling darling please turn the light on I know there's a fight on but I'm really quite right on my best friend's a woman I'm not oppressive I'm not aggressive I just want the light on so don't get a fright on if you can't get laid a t University you never will and I need the lumescence to aid my tumescence have a drink or a fag that will be the cure and try not to roll on this pile of manure I'll have a joint till you get the point yes its cool baby far out its cool oink.......

Mills and Boon I hate to be boring but I've already read the paperback you carry around in your head the first time 1 read it I believed every line but too many readers has broken your spine your story has passed through too many mitts the thumb-marks are legion round your dirty bits he's got nice hips nice face nice height he's worth a little dinner by candle-light the wine is smooth and you can tell pretty soon he'll be Mills and you'll be Boon in chapter one your love comes alive you're knitting him sweaters on page twenty-five you're building a home with imaginary bricks and your singular orgasm is on page fifty-six by page ninety-two you can tell there's a fight on you start out Shakespeare and end Enid Blyton you keep giving and your spine keeps bending but he's the one who writes the ending and the paper's been wearing much thinner of late there's something quite sticky on page one-o-eight for after a while even the best story pales and gets sold second-hand at car boot sales one thing is certain (though all art is lies) you're never going to win the Booker prize.

Seasons of Love The winter is coming and its going to freeze us so I'll call you Mary if you call me Jesus and regardless of the weather we'll always be virgins together you will conceive on the first day of spring when the sky is a magnet to all holy things and whatever sails at the sea of your breast we'll welcome like ship-mates aboard the Marie Celeste in summer we'll burn on the altar of our duty a candle of wax that will melt like your beauty all our dreams will gather at a famous reception to balance the score between truth and deception our possessions will die while we are still young just like shadows at the peak of the sun for autumn arrives with a knife to sever the immaculate bond that made us virgins forever.

Scars The man who cut your skin and delved within has he got any scars ? the man whose sterile slice left mind and body in a vice has he got any scars ? the man who bent your bones and organised your personal zones has he got any scars ? the man who laid you flat and said I'm in charge of-that has he got any scars ? you do not cry alone in rage his blood is on this page.

On the Death of a South African Poet. We're breaking open the words in our head because the words are heavy and bold where there was silence there shall be voices instead and we shall not do as we're told where our words are chained our bodies are dead living the endless death of the silent so we're screaming out the words in our head because our screams are sacred and violent they're closing up the words in our head in Johannesburg and Pretoria where the sky is gold and the blood is red and silence is the food of the oppressor but they could not stop the words in your head or hold them in the vice of their fear for where the skin is black and the poet is dead the words still ring out loud and clear.

Strange Mystique They say that every person is unique but some of us have a strange mystique can he walk or talk or screw ? what exactly can he do I suppose it shows society cares that I'm a public subject destined to tick boxes in eternal questionnaires I used to raise defences like gates across my face dwell in sanitised interiors imaginary sanctuary so that beneath a cling-film smile there lurked a satanic member of a far superior race taking on the guise of homo sapien he was holy and fabulous untouchable, with the power of Gods and devils then he failed his 'o' levels and all of his enjoyment got lost in unemployment and the people live in fear of us because we are mysterious they stop and gape and leer at us grab their children pending delirious reactions possible infections perhaps a leak of our mystique I'm a magical mystery tour obscure in every pore I'm packaged and I'm cellophaned my holiness is deep-ingrained

a social worker to the nation I'm such an inspiration and if my ego gets a tweak from calling it mystique and if I know I'm beautiful although its not quite suitable I shall remain inscrutable not entirely explicable and on every questionnaire will put 'Not Applicable'.

I motorway I motorway like lightning beat on the rubber speed I move too fast like love too frightening then catch my relativity coming back shagged out down the fast lane ten years ahead and a brain like wet bread I vicious delicious scientist of speed motorway maliciousness foot right down grinning accelerating enervating alive and dead I A to Z the life for me not prose but poetry.

Somebody Elsewhere. I'm used to adverse reactions and I have a certain sympathy its just your alienation that comes out when you look at me and I can sense the desperation in the eyes of those who stare who is it that they see ? it must be somebody elsewhere and the fear in their perception strips their own soul bare for the subject of their reflection is really somebody elsewhere.

The Interrogation Christianity was built upon foundations of guilt you little shit. I went to school I got a job and after that I became a slob I'm middle-class I'm middle-management and they call me mr insignificant I watch TV I read a magazine I'm never heard but I'm always obscene I'm a democrat I'm SDP I believe what I believe insignificantly I love my car I drive my wife I've got Insurance on my life my wife is comatose and quite indifferent when we make 1ove it's not significant I wear a suit I like suspenders I think Russia wants to invade us I go to the pub I meet my friends they say hello mr insignificance

I go on holiday I see the sights I pay my rates I know my rights Ive got a son hes not intelligent his teacher says hes insignificant and after school hell get a job and after that hell be a slob hell be middle-class hell be middle-management and theyll call him mr significant junior .

Vandalise it its a job creation scheme destroying the architects sixties dream don't compromise just vandalise its the logical conclusion of architectural delusion so hit them right between their lies but they were only for the working classes and one can only, afford a modest sum when it comes to housing scum our plan is to isolate the smelling in modest but pleasant high-rise dwellings and before you even know it a ghetto on the horizon we'll create utility and profit its what made this country great they really don't deserve it and bring back national service and bringing up children do me a favour I blame the silly sods who bothered voting Labour and twenty years of washing lines of damp and noise and suicides and screaming that comes from deep inside bury them all together dig a great big hole I think you'll find that our design gives maximum control its the welfare who cares no repairs the lift is broken and up the stairs society and one of its releases is to break it into pieces its a logical progression an honourable profession a service to the nation so don't just despise it go out and vandalise it.

Completely Non-sexist Mans Blues Thanks for the memory darling it was a wonderful affair me in my radical dufflecoat you with your bright orange hair f or a moment the world stood still and life was one long party until over some minor disagreement you went out and learnt karate but let's not dwell on bitterness I'm still your greatest fan of course you'll never find another quite like me a completely non-sexist man I'm not saying you were ungrateful or a sordid twisted little bitch I gave you the food of my love and the diet was a little too rich nor do I say I'm an expert at the various sexual acts let's just say I'd be bankrupt if I had to pay Value Added Tax and now that you're a lesbian I still think you're rather cute although I find it hard to be attracted to a woman in a boiler suit so thanks for the memory darling its the one thing I'll never lose as I sit here alone in my bed-sit with the completely non-sexist man's blues.

New Technology I used to be a bastard to computers demanding instant access to information in every sense of the word a user discarding them when 1 was bored refusing to talk to them for days looking at magazines full of them always wanting a more up-to-date one getting angry at the least provocation walking out on them and feeling guilty coming back later with new software playing endless games with them forever taking them for granted expecting then to stay in the house all day and light up the moment I touch them ignoring the deeper rhythms of their inner workings. Now I respect computers and treat them as equals and am even willing to admit that some are more intelligent than I.

Hes Looking For a Thing with a Hole in it.

He's looking for a thing with a hole in it he acts like someone has stolen it for its his destined role to have one to control a thing with a bole in it all his friends have got one a thing with a hole in it and they say it comes in handy when they're hungry or randy and he'd give his heart and soul to it as long as its got a hole in it his father had one and he's got this fear that everyone will suppose he's queer if he doesn't get a thing with a hole in it in naval terms he'd like to drop his anchor and he reallv would take time to love and thank her for saving him from looking such a wanker someone like his mother or the one who married his brother so that it's clear he's not the other way inclined he's looking for a thing with a hole in it because he cannot cope alone with it and it's his right by succession to get help with his depression and ills because the best sort of pills come with a hole in it he's looking for a thing with a hole in it and sometimes I think I'd like to take him to my bed and show him the hole in my head.

Penetration. in his dreams be is an absolute sensation a complete devastation at the art of penetration yet at work he is a shirker not a thrusting sort of worker all his concentration goes on penetration in his dreams to the women in his dreams nothing else matters the earth doesn't move it shatters into tiny glittering shafts of climax, quite poetic yet at work he's rather lax suffers indolence attacks and lacks ambition in his dream-world of moans and groans he is always remembered yet at work the women in Sales and Repairs have such penetrating stares that leave him feeling, reeling dismembered.

Gay Machismo, I could be a cowboy I could be a mechanic I could be a sailor or a soldier spreading panic everywhere I go I take my gay machismo I really stick my chest out I really strut my stuff I like to get it smooth but I like to give it rough American footballers are my heroes they're all such gay machismo's cowboy or mechanic my six-gun or my overalls or maybe just T-shirt or jeans clinging tightly to my genitals I'm going to the disco to dance my gay machismo my hair is all greased back my muscles are like a brick I love to make you quiver at the prospect of my prick it continues to grow thanks to gay machismo.

Shit children poke it adults smoke it dogs smell it executives sell it schoolkids are taught it their parents have bought it the unemployed queue for it prostitutes screw for it teenagers sniff glue for it the TV portrays it the radio plays it the electorate swallows it politicians wallow in it the DHSS spies for it pensioners die in it policemen raid for it journalists are paid for it women clean it or are in magazines of it and some are killed for it because men's minds are filled with it soldiers are drilled in it pop fans adore it junkies try to score it white people ignore it black people are housed in it their youths are aroused by it Asians are given it communities live in it the economy is growing in it profits are flowing in it seeds are sewing in it revolution is simply the situation in which the people wipe the arse of the nation.

Pleasure Revolution. everything is so dangerous today reading a book or going out to play watching TV you can get a heart attack going down the shops you might never come back your sexual peak is gone at twenty-one life is over before it's begun you take exams when your mind is a void so when you grow up you can be unemployed you meet St.Theresa on the way home from the dole she saves your body but she throws away your soul she turns out to be a female impersonator so you give up sex and become a masturbator you drink too much to ease the pain you get cancer of the liver and cancer of the brain you want to fall in love but you can't stand the heart-aches you look into the mirror but then the mirror breaks there's never any money in the palm of your hand someone broke the promise in the Promised Land

Out to Lunch I've been having too much fun again I'm completely out to lunch again there must be something wrong with me I'm living much too pleasurably when I know I should be serious I'm often quite delirious and I'm outside looking in to the place I once was and my body feels like jelly and I cannot even speak because I'm completely out to lunch again I'm my own very best friend again and I've got lovely wobbly bits and I go wobble gobble wobble gobble wobble gobble wobble gobble it's all the fault of Cleopatra the world's first hedonist which I've discovered really means she was always stoned and pissed and being of historical bent I know exactly what she meant I am just a flower in the greenhouse of desire and I need a little shower so I can get a little higher so praise my alterations and my out to lunch sensations but then the telephone always rings or someone comes to visit me and someone's got divorced or there's going to be a holocaust and I try to take it seriously but I realise its no good so my mouth fights a rearguard action while my mind leaves the neighbourhood

Out to Lunch / 2 and I wish I had a secretary or better still a wife someone to stop the nasty bits intruding on my life someone to love and need me and also clothe and feed me who'll make a pot of tea whenever I am flat out who will iron all my shirts and be there to let the cat out it would lend such credibility to my masculinity and we would be compatible when it comes down to the crunch for she would be hospitable and I'd be out to lunch.

Almost Everything I am almost everything I am almost an artist I am almost a freak I am almost in love almost every week I am almost happy I am almost a failure I am almost a feminist apart from my genitalia I almost have it all worked out I almost know what life's about I am almost everywhere I am almost speechless I am almost capable of showing tenderness I am almost alone almost every day but I almost wish my friends would go away I almost drink too much I can almost sing I can almost do almost everything.

BORN AGAIN POET I hate poetry its never done a damn thing for me it shows a negative utility just lies around all day in books into which nobody ever looks and its really got it in for me because when I should be reading Keats or Shelley I'm usually watching telly and when I've got a bruise and nothing to put on it the last thing I want is one of Shakespeare's sonnets in the fast food fantasy land there's no time for poetry and in the post-punk paradise lost its a positive vice makes you seem much too nice it could ruin a man's credibility reading too much poetry but I just can't seem to shake it so I'll just be big and William Blake it on the chin and if I ever begin to sound like a born again poet please let me know it.

Body Language my gesturing for words becomes a stutter my touching at the sky of faces is but a whisper my moving through the halls of eyes has no grammar my writing on the streets of motion has no reader my dancing on the mirror of colours is so deliberate my body bas a language witb no alphabet.

America is Waiting in the Kitchen and silence is as silence does creep around this room of mine smell the roses in the air take a leaf from the olive vine hear the beating of the drums smell the smoke from distant fires send me a message slowly we don't want to break the wires and violence is as violence does once we had a real good time hear the throbbing of my pulse I lost my heart down a diamond mine I possess only my possessions neatly packed in a violin case Hitchcock spent the night here see the signs upon my face and silence is as silence does closing doors and reading books smiling is a bad disease it's been known to ruin good looks come in here and be starved I'll cook you some malnutrition leave your rifle at the door I'm the keeper of the ammunition and violence is as violence does once we had a real good time hear the throbbing of my pulse I lost my heart down a diamond mine let's begin all over again in the spirit of the great wild west America is waiting in the kitchen its much too late to be depressed.

Adult Movies Hitler's got his tights on he's tickling Eva Braun's feet he's sent out the Gestapo for an Alsation bitch on heat he calls you on the phone he asks if you're alone and how about getting stoned in one of your adult movies better put your nails away they leave too many scars you say some of your friends are gay but we're all movie stars every time you break up you put on extra make-up and think of new games to take up the time in your adult movies and I swear one day you'll lose me inside one of those movies Kennedy is standing in the doorway he's got America between his legs he's talking to Hitler's alsation whose teaching him how to beg and he just won't let you go because you're kissing Mexico and he wants to paint your toes in one of your adult movies you're always at some festival or kissing someone's cheek your life is one long spectacle in a different town every week the last time I was there you put lip-stick in your hair and talked about the premiere of your next adult movie and I swear one day you'll lose me inside one of your movies.

Cruelty without Beauty with every table for two you get a bowl full of spew and exactly what you want at the anorexic restaurant you can have your body re-designed to suit the ghetto in your mind and the menu is obscene it's devoid of all protein in the spoons catch a reflection of your magnificent malnutrition it's the only place for dinner where you end up getting thinner the service is by men with a camera and a pen they give everyone a label as they lead them to their table the owner has a licence to promote your disappearance and he only goes to bed when all his customers are dead in the morning he begins to disconnect their skins he serves their mind and heart the next evening a la carte and he sends off all their bones to a factory he owns where they put them in cosmetics made entirely from anorexics.

What Enemies But of Mine I Am When to go I go in truly sickness of the paradises it is and itself move darkly through drifts and dreams of waking to you a much lust and enemy next latest dread of kiss alas is go he is curse he instinct sucks him from the swamp a different go thus time what enemies but of mine I am evil eye like a plunging lower compassion past it creeps to conquest mixed possession of the mind itch irritate breaking skin flowering deeds a little too much do not transparent hope of suffering kiss and blow this rotten body shame I hope I think I love curse the bond my heart again what enemies but of mine I am shock the death in the air I live decay and devotion crucifix upon your sugar breast punishment I sing but only touching steal the thunder and the breaking beauty liar redeemer drowning I go love love fireworks secret you starve quiet tears what enemies but of mine I am.

By Some Oasis I am a hammer held above you I think- I hate you because I love you I remember you you're the one I couldn't forget and my revenge is to fester litre some shadowy molester of memories I would wish you happiness but I'm still a realist and anyway I hope you're in a mess then I'll know it's still you feminist romantic sexually sycophantic we had a certain stealth two moral anorexics ruining each other's health I am still a spike and all I have now is reality and my friends in the Foreign Legion they may name a desert after me in this particular region sometimes the dunes flow smoothly but other times in your memory I think how dry this place is and I go down and lurk again by some oasis.

Parade You destroy me with your parade all your clowns and joy walking by me in your parade you keep the elephants in your purse such delicate extravagance in your palm acrobatic so dramatic I have to laugh and cry lions jump at your command beautiful things glide and fall spotlights dance seals play ball y o u flow past in colours xylophones and drums and horns salute your parade and the horses glisten down the street of your parade its a legendary circus with microphones and midgets bulging strongmen sequined athletical thighs and alligators that kiss your toes as you tap-dance by with your parade.

England Is. England is a tent city rootless, truthless, youthless to be young is to be old fed on contradiction they live in dereliction preserving malnutrition as a weapon of the soul England is a streetwalker's paradise policemen and prostitutes on the make only difference is the coppers are coming and the prostitutes fake England is a jerk-off Jerusalem behind the facade disciples of De Sade are watching us all on video England is a tent city diseased by dispossession they camp across the nation hostages to frustration to be young is to be old is to learn to love your mutilation.

Love and Peace. let's go out and kill a hippie let's really celebrate it used to be the Pakis now it's the hippies that I hate it's all so bleedin provocative that love and peace shit how much love and peace would there be without supplementary benefit ? just answer me that if you can and what really gets me annoyed is they sit around brazenly smiling even though they're unemployed its not friggin California thank heavens for our police they'll always be there to protect us from the threat of love and peace what really gets up my nose about hippies and I'll tell you this for free is they wander round the country being openly different to me.

Local News, Here is the local news: democracy is alive and well or at least it would be if it wasn't for the social security shithouse scumbag swindlers feminists irish black lesbian gay ex-offenders unilateralists perverts paedophiles and socialists conspiring together to undermine decency 1ucki1y the newspapers are now free so instead of having to go out and buy one you get six thrust through your door which must be what is meant by a free press.

A True Story and then I became the Prince of Wales and made my own video nasty and lived in a big big house met the Pope who said a special prayer for me and had more money than sense became a mass-murderer and women began to adore me appeared on the South Bank Show scored the winning goal in the Cup Final and the whole country knelt before me got married to Burt Reynolds who was ever so horny now I live in Hol1ywood and it's all based on a true story.

The Pain. On the hot wires of my flesh you dance with thorns of conquest you are the bastard Son of God I am engraved by your sweet electric wand the lines of my life you have sliced you are the granite petal the fragrant vice I am screwed to.

On the Motorway Mary and Joe met on the motorway going a hundred miles an dour in opposite directions this situation did not significantly change during the rest of their connections on the motorway Joe had the motorway tattooed on his chest and his hobby was being sick on tyres that were slick on the motorway it did the trick for Mary and they made love at her suggestion at the next intersection of the motorway she said you better look snappy because I want to be happy he said happiness is the final condition its the ultimate collision on the motorway she wanted a piece of the motorway so she could breed Pekinese Chibouaba Alsatian crosses and support good causes and ride horses along the motorway but Joe said the motorway was no place for a woman and as he said goodbye he told her love is a hard shoulder on the motorway

so Mary became a teacher and taught '0' level greed she said only men succeed and only women bleed on the motorway.

First Person Absent I'm from the bureau of missing persons and I am certainly one for learning lessons a product of the leisure economy I must have pleasure instantly so I plug my brains into the mains I'm an angel with electricity running through my veins I'm under-employed and paranoid and I move just like an android and do you know how much I love you ? you've got a woman but do you understand her ? are you a victim of your own propoganda ? I take pills to improve my skills but they give me indigestion I've got high-rise indignation and premature inebriation I like my sex explicit just in case I miss it when I'm watching television which is part of my condition I'm polishing up my personality to be a TV celebrity I'll bring the Promised Land to the Jews every night on the news so automatically charismatically I'd get my own chat show and then I'd let you know how much I love you I don't see you from one week to the next then you walk into my room without regrets it all connects the one who loses is the first to blow the

fuses I've got metal for scenery I'm surrounded by machinery it waits for the kiss of my ignition I'm an apostle for a new religion there are-no priests just electricians I'm getting out of my league suffering from metal fatigue I must have sin beneath my skin I must have thrills instantly electronically intravenously biologically my life is so intrinsically boring I have to keep on scoring and do you know how much I love you ? does it come as a surprise ? my love is straighter than the arrow flies in the city of deceptions the streets are full of bad connections and I live in a designer illusion where pleasure is a means of destruction whenever I get the itch I just press another switch and all of my desires are fed through me by wires whenever I'm upset I make love to my TV set I've got its heart and soul under my remote control and do you know how much I love you ? and have you heard the worst ? the bureau of missing persons says you'll never find yourself unless you find me first.

Poison Letter. Shoot me with your gay poison I want to climb your pleasure mountain I want to be injected to have my veins infected its a sin to be selective when you can be whole-heartedly defective so please please shoot me totally uproot me with that poison something must have fractured when you and I were manufactured so instead of being bored let's be fervently flawed its bound to be a shock but why go off half-cock ? so please if you will shoot me to kill shoot me so I never get better and ask you to return this sincerely, poisoned letter.

Jam. Ever since I was a kid had my hands on the jam jar lid jam with je11y jam with pips on my fingers on my lips jam with cream jam with bread jam in secret jam in bed jam for breakfast jam for tea has never been enough jam for me I like it orange I like it red I like to sit and watch it spread I even like to lick the knife it is the meaning of my life I always knew how jam was made and what to do when the table Is laid I like it smooth I like it rough I never know when I've had enough from the shops or make your own I like it best when I'm all alone.

Rocket Pad. when I was much younger who would have thought that I'd grow up to be a famous astronaut ? I started by exploring certain sorts of motions then landed on the moon with a shuddering commotion I found myself swimming in an ancient sort of ocean and ever since that day when I became a lad there's always been some fuel in my rocket pad I've been all around the skies with it and that's about the size of it I've had some understandings and some very bad landings but I still find it surprising that rusty old rocket keeps rising even when I'm snoring it goes remote control exploring I find myself in the strangest places where extra-terrestrials have grins on their faces and that's because they know where space is if I send the right message to mission control I can still lose my body down a big black hole whenever terra firma gets me pissed off I just count myself down to lift off then hanging on tightly by the handlebars I ride my rocket to the stars feeling glad about my rocket pad.

When I grow up when I grow up I'm going to be a cliche working nine to five each and every day when he grows up what's be going to be only about half as interesting as me when I grow up I heard my mother say they're going to lock me up and throw the key away when I grow up I've got big plans to go around the place doing the best I can when you grow up let me give you some advice never let anybody think that you are nice when she grows up I wouldn't be surprised shell end up on a bed being psychoanalysed when we grow up we'll play a lot of games go to lots of parties and call each other names when I grow up I'm going to be a cliche there'll be lots of things to do and lots of things to say.

A Mothers Song. I lost my brain in the supermarket of marbles I now number nil I had it when I collected my trolley but it had gone before I went through the till it must have been Tesco's or Sainsbury's or a similar sort of place but it's hard to remember details when your head has an empty space I remember the music resounding and the shoppers all milling around I was having some brussels weighed at twenty-seven pence a pound the children were running and shouting so in one of those motherly ploys I gave them my brain to play with to stop them from making a noise and since then I've been sort of drifting the time just seems to flow my yoga class became rather pointless as I no longer possess any ego of course I immediately complained to the manager who gave me some biscuits and tea he said it probably resembled a cauliflower and was purchased for twenty-five pee my Dave has been a tower of strength he's uttered not a word of discontent I'm still the woman he married he said and it's hardly essential equipment but I think it may dawn on him soon that the children are now running amok and the dog's not been walkie's for a fortnight and the kitchen is covered in muck and I vacuumed the garden this morning naked except for a hat and the meat-pie he's getting for dinner is largely composed of our cat.

Oppressor. You used to smell of cheddar but you never will again for now you wear Oppressor the new deodorant for men its got a really man-size smell and on women has strange effects they cease to be able to tell the difference between violence and sex you will never again be refused when you wear this magic stuff they just queue up to be abused and they've never had enough you must have seen it televised in that artistically creative ad where a man Oppressively deodorised is chased by women scantily clad It gets inside a woman's brain and turns them into a slave they may leap at you from a moving train or burst up out of a grave so splash it on your front and back and down your hairy grotto now you're a mobile aphrodisiac be prepared must be your motto.