In Memoriam J.P.
a rounding the corner an infant bent in a a thick sheathe of scab & pus scuffling a forlornly really drew my eye & then b Jean-Pierre’s moustache ludicrously blasted b piss at the Chancellor’s wife so fast that c she didn’t have a chance to shut her gob c Glug, Glug, Glug, Glug, sob, Glug, Glug, Glug, Glug, Glug d of course none of us had had any idea d that there was a urinary pore conceal’d e in the gristle of Jean-Pierre’s grizzle, e la-de-da, er, for shizzle my nizzle, f ti-tum ti-tum ti-tum ti-tum ti-tum, f di-dum di-dum di-dum di-dum di-dum, f ti-tum ti-tum ti-tum ti-tum ti-tum, f “at least he hasn’t blasted me with cum!” b er, no, but ser’ously, like, after that, b she went, “it’s pineapple juice!” & we all laugh’d, g razor parallels of authentic beasts g emerged, churning & voting, down the street, h mice, geese, walruses, um, walri, cougars, h jackals, jack-rabbits, &, many more sorts, i also, disembodi’d strongman-throats, also, i floating in their midst, a bread-crumb’d thingy, so, j we completely completely forgot about the piss, j & this breadcrumb’d, honeycomb-siz’d beasty, this k batter’d inchoate vertebrate, began to k play matchmaker between me & a man who, l anyway, in the meanwhile, Jean-Pierre’s l bristles twirl’d from the force of their flare, mmm his nose was bloodi’d by their blur, & on mmm this tiny propeller he rose, & was gone. n first was laughter, then silence, then disbelief, n then grief, then no grief, then no absence of grief.
