House of Mouse Innards - Knives Forks and Spoons Press

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What unusual names
the tortures of childhood provide
for the memory
when stimulated by a cartoonist
who knows myth
when couch bound;
‘the frame of the flowering eyebrow’
‘the shout of encouragement from behind the
television’
‘the cock that learns the trick’
‘the monkey grasping the peach’
What phrases that left your mark on wrists,
to jack its legs, Uther Pendragon,
as an epigraph to the suspension
of being a boy.
A boy then ceases applause
and nerves ruin everything
as they will continue to.
In a flannel skirt it conceals him
to where he can seek you,
leaning on radiators
talking about craft,
pulling something
from something else.
In an age before mythology
there were cartoons.
Saturday morning
Mount Olympus where
Singing Jerusalem
the people work their blades.
For the once
and future two squirrels
fell in partial love,
impeded only by
the eyelashes of the girl
which bled her
wide eyed mammalian self
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into tears over heartbreak.
Call it what you want
– the bow & arrow
retrieving it was analogous
to sadomasochism;
the twink walks
into the forest
hoping but
not hoping
for bears
but to impress with feats
of unnecessary
public aggression
and eventually kill every man,
as that is the way.
A test of purity, and others.
Children that snap.
An alliance of the tragic creatures.
Spear the water
bring rivers to their sea
creature.
Alone on the planet
a fish killing swordsman
stands and walks
upon its hind legs as man
and with hands of iron ore,
with dirty beaks,
it half walks upon its legs,
to set weight against
pulling something.
He has become,
like the cats
with watching glasses
in love with the idea
of being chosen.
The thick skin thousand
where the boy was seen landed
rarer than gold.
A barren swampland.
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a boy who doesn’t know how yet
to use his weapon.
Raised by a wart,
the hard trailing on his chest
must favour him because he saved
other children from being sat
at a circular table.
He shrouded the little shredded
mushroom in his arms
snatched it from a skull
indenting the shatter glass
and that’s normal after trauma.
In the concussion of a
wizened act of charity
chickenpox spreads through
the box of tricks like
magic. Triangulations all
around Bermuda have led us
to this point in detailed shirts
and florid design, working
metal against calcium in a
hero’s take on dental work.
Here, where a joust is just
a toothpick and our teeth
epically proportionate, we
organize tournaments for
something awareness months.
The Knight biting fingernails
and spitting them out
wiping bloody fingers on London.
A professional procedure,
Arthur nearly eaten by a wolf,
trying to give himself a black eye
to impress others.
It has retracted
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into Archimedes,
an abdomen as fit as a catheter.
As piping earcleaning
into a urethra
yet no pain
now, look
Arthur,
it is the bonnet
of a famished country
he is cutting into
becoming full fellow.
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in Utero Aurora
has beauty two hands
but one left hand
pebble dashed in
Utero
wild animals
all for a sleeping woman’s prince
approaching
carrying a hive
for a dozen age
and in wait in a modest house
(number 132, flat a)
on a modest road
a slept upon beauty
tending to hanging gardens
uprooted from her home
the dreaming mind
rarely within the hard humour
of roads
a black flag
from London public house to London public house, she
dreams
from the ‘Lamb & Killing’
to the ‘Uncle’
a story begins
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It begins when her spinning
is cancelled; no one can spin
the risks
of being awoken
rudely
risk a spin of the wheel
the good prince’s rhetoric
not always on point in these
averse times, then, throughout
the kingdom spinning classes
are cancelled
and virgin active fitness
first are all out of a 9am
start, the woman has woken
but not early
in clapping it was worst
when the legless bicycles
marauded through silent
pumps like seven
princes to then three to then
none
in her moment of needling or a splinter; or a
retraction
redacted
from the contract
is she awake, really?
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Really; it is a crawl
spotted
spot
rushhourcrush
upon the lung
fat vein sleep
german sleep to come
calm and tall
into angioplasty
like it were bath
for she is living clean
she is being kissed
awake or no,
in operation
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Operating the inversion of a xerox
tape recorded child star
famed for sleeping
well, thoroughly (and why not
this dying skill of napping)
the Prince is wet
in front of a horse,
hung clothes out
in the sunless
song opportunity
the all fours of his animal
dance in little red cap
where his pony
is a diminutive steed
hanging over him & his
dripping wetness
that is beauty
he is named after
the king of
who has also braced
himself in the ikea
togetherness of
a plastic lake holiday
package,
horse-ride
incl.
with future marriage / love / awakenings
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Smuggled Maleficent
in awakening girls
Red}
rot, suffocation
with consciousness comes new prblems
once again our lfe together
listen to itself being removed
from the thought
of children
it worried her
pale freckled skin orange hair
knotted in two tales of sore tools
red lips like a roster score
taking notes
picture her as a desperate circuit
trying to link with her saviour
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Saving the date, a wedding
or a burning
for all that betrays
her rewards
sweet sixteen
sixteen and pregnant
a musical funeral pyre
for the first wife
and attempts at rape in your reality
television / reality / back to sleep
Maleficent, I just luv ur
sickle cell anaemic / horns
so fierce
such tragedy in ur backstory
ur soul is warped like genetics allegory
it is a
transgender c4 docu
where the focus is misrepresenting the
body on the dance floor
beauty say yes to the dress;
it is the only affirmation that is
your own
aside from sleep
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Side sauntered
drugging
wullow whip
of Little Briar Rose
spitting bit
is empathy affordable to a prince?
she calls back to me
busy rest
of dung
for fuel
for children
it’s been weeks since awakening
arguments begin
eternal primates downs or out
and how he regrets
thinks
young, the girls stick to their
beds
and make a meal of it
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she’s going to make it
fifteen layers of forget
me nots where amnesia
becomes
forgive me because I
was instrumental in the
party and abduction
folding eggs, towel, paper,
chair like we hear them
crackle in the dough
exhausted fat of sleep
the side of the bowl a tsp
a tsp? thick adhesive
of not seeing times pass
she has always been
floral with a
whisk
and he, he does not made sadokitchen jokes
though you are a beauty
and I, a symbol of prince
with all our instruments to hand
make the best narcolepsy
on a mythic scale
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revenged for rest
scales & dragons take graveyard
shift
blind knows its own belly
the fairies resort to magic
and flora and merryweather get into a fight
over the colour, blue or pink, of the gown
it is the first rest in sixteen years
upon a kitchenette in Spain.
he’s recalling that which was hidden too
she has awoken but who is the man?
the grammar too familiar.
our special word erased
and battered levied
surgically down the sound
of groaning,
gooning, an undreamt reprisal.
he has proven to her
she is old
and it is time to a-mend
where it’s quiet, warm
calm, dark
and internal night
of being unwoken
in permanence,
pillow / plastic bag / pill