For Adrian Henri

I’m a boiled sweet sucked dry.

A lock of Rimbaud’s hair.

A stone sadly unskimmed.

A Bunuel eyeball sliced open.

A doorbell with a TB cough.

A ‘wellie’ footprint in a cloud.

A bum note on Dizzy’s trumpet.

A child lost at the Fair.

A Weimer Cabaret drag artist.

A key that turns only in ice-cream.

A Cubist jigsaw for pensioners.

A belly- dancer in a diving suit.

An A- Z of flirtatious moves.

An Alfred Jarry bicycle puncture kit.

A sock darned with blue sky.

A bedsit that doesn’t charge a penny.

A poet with a winged space rocket.

A friend of Brian and Roger.

A Paganinni Tribute Band.

A model railway ride to Bootle

A sandcastle in the Dole office.

A brass ear trumpet in the Cavern.

A lipstick stain on the Queen’s tiara.

A breakfast cereal that can Morris Dance.

A poem as loud as an Atom bomb.

A lump of Breton’s snot at the V&A

A lyric to accompany Gran’s snoring.

A Surrealist who can swim the Mersey.

A vandal in a candyfloss Heaven.

A Liverpool poet called Adrian Henri.

 

 

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Malcolm Paul

 

 

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