Acting as if one is five and not a multimillionaire diva, acting why knews all alongers and proper collapsing after-turns and memory blockers, all the ballkickers page is a blog and we the doggerelist in Letters on it, verse in iambic pentamenter, gurning for a prize of sand 'n choonz.
What if Nothumberland poetry, is secular prayer and the combined psychic weight of cerebral wishing for a greater logic, orderly people-manouvring in drastic bloopers - combined into summat wanna gan dan toon, by dan tha new why eye, perspicacious serendipity rolling on to love, rolling out the stuff of life and wrought to verse tha song a little person's lullaby in disguise, disgusted with the state, sibling songstress yo bro main, power in tha grasp of secret - old testament poetries alone tha knew why eyes dan choon, gan man of whatsfookinupwivyer - shouting at owl-bag on Brittas Cresent, bottles at a back wall, razor fence, presents in through window and letter-box, dividing lines clawed from the State in Disgrace debates, floss gaffe laughter and the occasional chapter in a short, essential and interesting rise of Northumberland becoming a modern super-cluster of intellectuals attending to their word, allowed be their gab, musing on bag-owl in Blessington Avenue, a touch of sand 'n glue, the words of kings and princes, the queen of truth and tune, some have said, earlier today at a psycho-fillidh Cantook townland, Breifne parish, more legendary Dogg naGwyldo, petty kingdom and Sorry, Do you know Me?!
We blew the love into them.
We blew the love right back in their own ears
Tender ear the eyes at work.
Blew their hate away
It suffocated in their own awakening.
Praise reality for all the good things
Love them into forgiving your shit
They are eating it.
Praise Love for all good things.
We loved the bards into balls of dust.
Now come here on the mouth, kiss
shards, le moi.