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As Leicester City footballed their wonderful fairytale the French press, in their articulate way, lauded the Foxes’ peasant-king Jamie Vardy with this delicious soubriquet.
You were born on an upward turn,
0.48% gains in the early hours of the exchange
when you swapped – shorted really,
took a punt on Mother’s milk
and swam out the mortal sink.
They’re dancing under a moose head
in here. There’s an emptiness about.
The sound is bodily, epic as a moose,
epic as the leeching of dumb youth.
It’s not something that tongue-tied moose
could tell you much about, in truth. Continue reading “Moose”
The number of you
to nothing at all
and the sum of love.
The sum of two –
where I am one
and your mother
the other one Continue reading “Primal Math”