his submersion in self-harm & the business pages
proved only meddlesome, some might say boring.
all the justified passages in passing simply pluralised
jokes ‘on you’ or your co-dependants,
couches instead shady emotions piling up over
coffee-tables sprung like abstract art mountains of numerals
a nancy white-on-white: surely hope is a huffing yeti.
i implied he was in a stupor, or i might have.
i could only rescue one gram from a stray tobacco pouch
although saw there was more at stake, other colours.
you can use this, came a voice, issuing from a wall.
it insisted slight differences are major to us.
later the car wouldn’t start cresting the figurehead
of an intersection & i fell to contact with
people, hard-jaw-lines & metallic paint.
the lustre of ethereal grey h-hmmed like never before
operatic sunlight falling flat over the shoulder.
i wallowed, stupid, king of car-horns.
i guess he goes about his business –
i speculate like a protein-bar.
weird shit trumpets. fonts are etched into the hand. you
contract a counsellor to scoff at the advice, but secretly ponder?
kafka taunted life & its miserableness (i love that –
so cool). why not picture then
sabrina the teenage witch & jennifer lopez.
do you have to smoke at kid’s parties?
abort the scenario. we lose track of themes:
thistles blowsy on an aria of wind.
everything is there to do. still. i waffle on to an improvised
cellar. no-one orders headstones for goldfish, carves epitaphs.