Wednesday, 27 March 2013

Waste Land


Walking a tight line to the plaster room my foot bone broke when I fell four days down a sink hole in my imagination. We're all the colour of mushroom aping sleep and motion sickness for thrills from drum taste of dub, look out there's a crash coming in. Late. She died drinking from a crack in the cup. I've heard that's something people say, I believe it's so feeling warmer now you've come home. Blood on the wall, 'looks like blood,' the police medic said and was sorry for the time we should be asleep and young girls please gash nail varnish only in rage. Size is deceptive. Two social lives worked together lead to ruin. The solution would be to buy a pack of four biros not one at a time, illogical position in a meaningless universe, says that in my dictionary…accept it a gift, eleven year old me for help with my homework. Swollen by the past. Reaction to earrings from my old work the way they take it so seriously I think it bigger just doing their job a fraction of my day and I of theirs, go home and forget who'd live in a flat? Pulsing with poltergeist activity same night as the fight his turntable tilted but a nudge behind a wall of books also his and two bowls, mine, reversed, this can't be blamed on a cat. Adrenalin trap. Another day lame researching internal fungal growth. Everything on my plate I suppose I should eat. Everyone's different one fig skin later I was shitting all night. No one told him, swallowed it whole for years. If I wash up now the tape will still be running when he gets home from work and look like I've done more than knitting bone, four weeks till a sticky join speed of an ex-fingernail. Sorry T.S. I lie down in the dark with four sides of you but kept getting up to turn on the light and write something down and now you've finished a bird in spring sounds angry. She thought I should listen to her.

No comments:

Post a Comment