The Pen

the pen twirls around my fingers

round and round and round it goes

dragging thoughts in circles

the past splicing into now

sometimes I wish I’d just shut up

become that envied happy little moron

stop fiddling with my pen


Copyright November 2015


Filling Gaps in TV

I need a distraction
A justification
The TV set does not provide respite
The not so quiet hum of the refrigerator
Broken only by Westminster chimes
Bong bong ad nauseum for nine beats
Nine beats slap bang into my mind
I’m bored I think
It’s too early for bed
The Killing has not yet begun
This couch potato feels more like a pumpkin
A tough hide full of seeds and pulp inside
Add in a little spice
Blend me to a mushy mess
Drink me before the heat subsides
My ennui might be assuaged
If you cook me deep inside
Then wash me in the kitchen sink
A bubble bath of liquid fairy
Sprinkled with the dust of little folk
Migrated from the old country
Asylum seekers adrift on boats
Before their bones are crushed and powdered
Rendered into fat political footballs
Used to wash the dirt off smug mittelvolk
Who sit on couches
Waiting to be entertained
By moribund TV
And money
Back to sex and kitchen sinks
And a life dullened by a lack of imagination worthy of an accountant
I’m still waiting as the clocks tick
Out of sync with one another
I fly like Ophelia from room to room
Wishing Hamlet would arrive to beat his breasts
Send Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to their deaths
Anything to break the mundanity of me
I finish writing
Stop my brain from fashioning tales so deeply disturbing
It’s to Danish TV I flee
Nothing real will I ever see
Until I get over the fact of me

Copyright September 2013