LATE BUT FOREVER

IN AUTUMN 1990, SOMETHING HAPPENED IN CHERRY PIE WOOD. MRS BARFAWAY REFUSES TO TELL & HER DOG LICKSPITTLE SIMPLY RAN AWAY. TEN YEARS ON, STEWART SUMNER ASSESSES THE INFLATORY IMPACT OF THE MYSTIFYING EVENTS THAT DAY ON POST-MODULATORY, MULTILITERAL, PREAMBULATORY CROSSOVER POETRY PERTAINING TO EXPRESS THE SHIT SANDWICH IN NON-GASTRONOMIC TERMS. THE FOLLOWING POEM HAS BEEN ENTERED FOR THE INTERNATIONAL SELF-FLAGELLATING AUTOMATED GARGOYLE ON A STICK AWARD 2010.

LATE BUT FOREVER
by Stewart Sumner

As the rain splashes
I see the cradle
To the grave
In scintillating shades
Of colour and dialogue
Freeze framed and clipped
To slip in my back pocket
On the way to the doc
Forwards, backwards then stop
A juddering footnote
To the incoming saline
As blue as the midnight
As fake as the PhotoShop
I say, did you hear that plop?
That was me

UP CHUCK AND DI

Avitan Demotional! Me, Me, Now!

(to the tune of "Jingle Bells")
words - Marcel DeClercq

Ativan
Ativan
Atta girl, you go
Take a chill pill everyday
Lest you go insane, hey!

Stop yer cryin'
Drink more wine
And beer and whiskey, too
Once you're tranked
Or mildly tanked
Your troubles melt away.

Dashing through the blow
Cocaine all the way
Oh what fun it is to ride
In a souped-up Chevrolet
Bell's High-Octane Ale
Gets you fookin' tight
What fun it is to smoke a joint
And get ripped every night!

Oh, Ativan, Ativan, trankers all the way
Oh what fun it is to chill
'Til your troubles melt away!