It’s an embargo of the senses.
The walls seems as thick as Granny’s sliced bread as I lay and
The rain inside my head.
The world could shake it’s last, but
I won’t panic or
Even vent fury at the lack of time left
To see the wonders of the world.
Apparently there’s a only a limited amount out there.
Wonders that is.
Who gets to naysay whether this house within a house within
Isn’t a wonder!?
It is to me.
How dare they say nay to that!
Oh! In studying the lack
Have I just stumbled upon a
Chris on a flagpole, flapping!
Now there’s a wonder to behold.
Do I have them, even when they appear
Buried under a landslide of sludge and yesterday’s hopes?
I like that word.
There I go again, Mother,
Expressing a sentiment.
Before you know it I’ll be
Running across the rooftops with Burt, or
Flying a kite with a fucking great stupid grin on my smoke-damaged face.
Maybe I do have feelings, but there’s an embezzler at the back of mind, with
A hook on a long stick,
Who traps them from me and then,
When he’s feeling particularly mean,
Releases them all at once,
So that they spill and spew out of mouth and eye
Onto nervous bystanders who only crossed my path
Because serendipity was pms-img that day and
Wish that I would just fuck off again.
Time to breathe…
No power to seethe.
Sales calls should be banned or made illegal or exorcised like that green goo spewing little goblin.
I’m only saying
Because I just got another.
That and a feeling.