Labour-saving leisure engraving grommets a

Great hole

Wherefore a hung, half-hearted, long diversion

Has a jowl become, and widening bringing-in

Tidings

Of forfeit like a squashed profiterole

Gone down, confounding party time, into a one no-show

Throw in the towel Bacchanal

These help-meet white wares; fridges, washing, washing-up,

Machines; whole ‘goods’

The kitchens flood, or, profligate, investiture Utility Rooms

Square graven gods, ..

Crawl you out middens, your tinpot Purgatories; yea, do so

Ye serfs and women

A Tipperary Road, an inclination, goes beginning

Rolling its stone headlong to hold the polished

Cherry clinging

All violent to be snacked on, but not of hope fulfilling,

The mouth calls out in drouth; where is there swelling,

Glad, mad, array of orchards

Forwards marches machines - they’re closing in

Connectibles to a Spring-clean spring whereto

Strewn to profusion

Lets labourers beaver not; savour a breather

From the work

Dismiss the fissured hand of granny’s washday

Task

Discard the groaning back that swept and kept

Untarred backyards

Be that cast away upon some open pit of woebegone

Foredone

Necessity of domesticity

How it had them overflowing in brown saucepan

Bother stoups

Fulfil, allow our houses, carpet browser hovercrafting

Squires

Beepers that circulate a slow sedate apocalypse;

That wake no tofu grazers based before a rye-bread loaf

Who rape a lettuce leaves at tea while sipping a tête-a-tête

Soirées beside low tables; arrays of golden mobile foils

Dangling comfort shows

Soothing lightly limber senses; glittering, littering

On the edges of the sunshine’s filament

They dance aside, swing tied, collide, blow ardently

Uproarious conversation makers, deep earth shakers,

Miles away

Shape making consolations for the pretty flower-press life

Then tensions rousing, solo enter, newcomer of glamour

One spreads a very clever knife

Solid with butter; still the TV burbles handing urgent

Endless pearls

As like swarm bubbles in a mossy puddle overfilled

With tadpole spawn

The lamps around set out designed and intricate

By gesture of a tired fastidious hand

To save some lazing room

The glass receptacles on which the biscuits lifted,

Had, with large resource, to tender slender lips

Been measured

Astounded only now in disembodied crumbs surrendered

Standing scattered decimated on the naked plate

Platitudes rove relating, making débuts, adult-rated

Parlous horoscopes elope from tropes to slanderous

Gretna Greens

Make there illicit loves on beds of sepalled poppy dreams

And all the while goes on a neophile persuasion as

The gadgets in the rooms heave-ho, to do their servile

Cupboard chores

Their tunes in common hum, almost attune together

Making orchestral dronings, differentiate intonings,

A sweet and metal throb, in love’s electric cycles

Their merry airs, their amatory affairs, weave long delights

Abounding, as the ground shakes; on they spin, one clatter

But to what matter? - in the rooms a smiling styling

Of tried minds consider

This littered labour, their best neighbour, skills

Detritus culls

Furrows to blow the must away from daily handiworks

Solace the place for serving pleasantries with

Cream éclairs

Where talking brews common stalking into love affairs

A lightest movement of an arm shows charm and

Delicate fatigue

Too much, a touch of less-than-satin, to a supple knee

Contingency is awful

Perturbation so unkind

Ah, let thus whimsy articles to serve to rest one’s mind

Slim nothing pieces, all’s of paper, pastes, and spittle

Narrations’ invitations which would satisfy these bland

Vertiginous, high-tower desirous, souls