Stuart Miller-Osborne

I have never belonged to a school I do not care that much As my talent for what it is Is a solitary talent I thrive in the vacancy Of my own thoughts These are just words That I happen to knit together I believe that have no real style Which may be a style…

I live in a kitchen sink town It has not changed much since I was a kid The shops are uniform and very bleak Even on the warmest of summer days My name is Malcolm X I was named after the greengrocer As he was the nicest man That my late mother ever knew He…

Paul is bathing Jeanne, In a tub on the top floor  Of a house in Archery Square  He tenderly caresses her  With a soft flannel  They engage in small talk  And do not notice That the oak tree  Opposite their high window  Is shedding its fruits  Into the brisk winds  I am by now entering Archery…

AN I MAL S SINKING SLOWLY INTO A SWEATY SWAMP THIS IS NOT A SPECTATOR SPORT

Rotting leaves mashed to a pulp By the wheels of the careless Brown Bunnies mashed to a pulp In the gutters of the rich Severe storms will soon strengthen And wash away much of the guilt

My Cousin Bobbie and I were travelling On a fast express train Towards her Manchester home She had been crying As she had lost her job Because of a couple of embarrassing mistakes Which caused an important customer To close their account Even though the carriage was full Bobbie insisted on showing me her boobies…

Yesterday I met Marianne We had booked a room At the Hotel Violette As we wanted to breed But we changed our mind And purchased a violet cat Which we have called Comète

Yesterday I met Marianne We had booked a room At the Hotel Rouge As we wanted to breed But we changed our mind And purchased a red cat Which we have called Comet

Today whilst visiting The City of the Pilgrims I purchased Robinfon Crufoe Printed In a Gothic Script It is a mysterious book And quite beautiful To look at I also purchased Manhattan Transfer John Dos Passos I lived in the USA For a number of years And am quite fond Of this writer Whilst shopping…

The mediocrity of grey