kmart lunchroom circa mid 09

Freaking out in the Kmart lunch room. I write this unseparated from my self. With a particular audience in mind. To an audience unwitting, uncaring to read.
Seriously why am I so obsessed? If I had you I’d be able to write the most beautiful things. I’d pluck words from your actions, those actions performed in your beauty. They’d trickle over the most charred of pages. And seep into the most iron of hearts. What are you doing now?

If only you were wondering what I am doing now. Well here it is. The Kmart fecking lunch room.
The queer roly poly Indian man in the Hawaiian shirt and the pigs nose earrings. This pretty girl just walked in and the man I was about to write of, he looked at her. I won’t write of this man now. He seemed defined by her presence. The graceful asian lady and the fat westie, listening to cliff richard on her iPod, oldies have iPods now. There’s a paperback of the goblet of fire unread by her side. Oh my arch nemesis gina maccarone walked in, patro – no, matronising nonna.

So the electricity may be poring out the walls. The honeycombed lights buzzing their dull glow. The toaster could spring with joy. The taps could run with a smoky opaque cylinder of water. Fungus thriving upon the ceiling.
This lunch room is vulgar. And I’ll attribute this perception to not having you. I’d like a new job.

guilt

I
And as i repulsively shuffle off this mortal coil,
(how did Shakespeare know about dna?)
The vile torments i bestowed upon my small world,
Cling to me like ravenous parasites.

II
And as the gentle breath,
of all who i have loved,
(so beautiful when quick
with life) suspends me gently over
the writhing pit of my crimes,
i take out my pearly scissors,
and i cut their benevolent web

hospital

A caustic glance,

It drizzles,

Fails to singe.

An unplugged pond,

And gritty smoke,

Permeates until the interior.

Severed cores,

Actual bones,

Marrowed geese,

Silly sneeze.

There were:

Bound papers,

Violent staplers,

Clockwork time.

Sifts through my lashes:

Living aids,

Plastic props,

Concrete slabs,

(Beds for bones).

In weakened flesh.

It is all a frozen expectation,

Helpless and snarred by

Malignant tides.