35. Poetry

35.2. Poemotions

35.2.6. Text of book

Start of page 270 in the book

Part Twelve

Nonsense & Fantasy

Prologue Twelve 271

Mrs Flue 272
Bubble Bubble 273
Falling through the Floor 274
For Real 275
Love Bubble 276
The Awful Woofle 277
The College of Honny-Hon-Hon 278
The School for Inappropriate Desire 282
Uncle's Ankle 288

Start of page 271 in the book

Prologue Twelve

There are things you cannot exactly explain, that seem to you to make no sense. Yet the words of the message may resonate, and suggest a meaning driven into your head from faraway spheres. These may echo, and send you thoughts you cannot decipher but which still you feel have meaning.

Here my first message to you comes from Mrs Flue, with whom I have lived most of my life. She blesses you, does Mrs Flue. Bubble you said, bubble bubble. I joined with you to make a flawed arch. Trouble with real women is, interfere with fantasies. Your love, my love, was perfect - perfectly smooth and round. The awful woofle stalks the woods: there'll be no peace tonight. Which would you choose: the noble College of Honny-Hon-Hon or the School for Inappropriate Desire? Finally we glimpse, with late pity through the dark, Uncle's ankle's odd small spark.

Start of page 272 in the book

Mrs Flue

How do you do
Mrs Flue?

I need to be knowing
how you are doing.

It would also be good to know
where you think you are going.

Because I'm concerned for you
dear Mrs Flue.

So I say once again
to you

How do you do
Mrs Flue?

Start of page 273 in the book

Bubble Bubble

Bubble you said, bubble bubble
take me to bed, bubble bubble
open your head, bubble bubble
shove me inside

You lie in the warm, bubble bubble
massage my eyes, bubble bubble
pick out the cells, bubble bubble
make free with me

Now it grows chill, bubble bubble
pulses stand still, bubble bubble
so love can kill, bubble bubble
you can't get out

Start of page 274 in the book

Falling through the Flaw

I died that day when I dropped heavily
through the gap that lies between
the belief we have in truth
and the truth that's so much less than our belief

I had joined with you to make a flawed arch
flashing its splendid span over the selfish abyss
the crack filled with small, exact and tiresome facts
people one knows too well, over-familiar places

When our arch split
as looking back I suppose it was bound to in the end
why should it have been only me
who was spilt squashily down into that abyss?