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A-frame bridge, no.254.
Why did they send the cavalry of the Crown,
not a chef adept at jigsaws?
Ontologically opting out of the
Damocles' fleatouch 1st person pronoun.
Ache kind of socialow luckemia
has culminated in this reckoning,
this personal brevima, the scheduling
of my release from this 40-year-old-****** hellhole.
Milk slit strike at the coconut shy of souls.
From a brittly hylic, embittered high place,
velocity tenderises me once & forall outofplace.

Such a beautifulday I must be serious,
the sun
vs.
Pipistrelle Daddy Destro:
for a few seconds, equals. The News Of The World won,
David Scarboro.
To spite the 1 I pined for ad infinights,
outofhiding in my vespertalactite,
to go down cyancowled
l/ sunnier owls,
down down t'azure turnups o'er ******
sock clouds of birdman w/ deflated waterwings.

We're not talking flash-flight, falling w/ (sky's
cramped) style, Golden Gate weightlessness, wirefu
knotted matter maquettes in jazz gravity.
More SPLAT! l/ birdcrap or a crap bird,
claret scree, ****** mannequin. Blue
remembered
hamon of a sayonara
skyarama
impales the seppuku diver upon
broadestsword, the East Anglian plateau alone.
Or fool's gold fall. Quadriplegic at end of the rainbow
(******* ineluctable rainbows).  

Join the fall & fall & noyade of lemmpires
on the mal voyage to clay again.
Out of der freie geist & into the fire
via impact, if we bolt this bottomless hollow
to be chastised by childabusers Charlemagne
chartered. But who's playing follow
the leperdoctrinist anymore?  I'll chin
the sun heavier than Hedd Wyn's
mourning cloaked Chair, as I take the earnest lemming way,
prince des nuees, rather than walkaway,
crippled for life.
Keep albatroshin'? Ol' bor, toss yourself off

a cliff rident that fits & locks clithridi-hate.
Or the Iron Bridge or some other local highledge
for the coming true of weight
when local legends exit cute.
Nice hand aids swigs for cynic the edge
hugs, but, lo, Green Hill Zone's killzone. Put
on a happyface l/ Spike at the asylum
or do it, dona nobis pacem.
Raspberry suicide notables,
gooseberry suicide notables,
for whom quiet
chap fallen finds his pizzazzphalt.

Fast brakes of champions prefer their egos sunnysideup,
but my last basket, she left w/ the very 1st *******.
Tell my mother it wasn't suicide: 'oops!'
Ego squeals creanced to a limping quacker,
human Kohoutek who fuzzily thuds
into circus teacup of Wensum, pate de parkour.
From a phrontistery
rookery
for emo dodos, sneerical bartizan,
I'll vertically powerflounce, pronk like Zebedee Zyban
at the speed of gary t'wards bananaskindeep peaceofmind
over precipice of all the cabinwalls I've feverishly climbed.

Tell my mum it wasn't suicide,
I was Brodie Fayed.
& that the Deep State was behind my head-
er off the Iron Bridge or some local highledge
(all the birdies flyed
from a beachy hedge).
I
had a nightmare I could fly.
The peace that passes all understanding
is not a soft landing.
Gravity, be
my supercomputer of mahasamadhi.

— The End —