Hater's Leap

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-virgin 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 virgin
sock clouds of birdman w/ flat waterwings.

We're not talking flash-flight, falling w/ (sky-
cramped) style, Golden Gate weightlessness, wirefu
knotted matter maquettes in jazz gravity.
More SPLAT! l/ birdcrap or a crap bird,
claret scree, dashed 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
(fucking ineluctable-inaccessible loopy 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,
le prince des nuées, 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 bastard.
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, pâté  de parkour.
Or dive at the speed of gary, Zebedee Zyban,
vertically powerflounce from your sneerical bartizan,
quitter! From a phrontisterookery, antipronk 
emo dodo, l/ a great auk!
Into bananaskindeep peaceofmind
over precipice of all the internal cabinwalls I've 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.