Birds clamouring outside all treed. Trees outside full of birds tweeting ’bout something you need. Obsessive compulsive birds on play-back playing back their dawn chorus on repeat track.
Only thing for sure is unlikely to happen. Drum rolls roll to a dead standstill. Peace of mind is a mind-piece snappin’ with Hitchcock birds gatherin’ over the hill.
Can’t say I want to sleep though my eye lids are drooping common sense goes out of the window when the mad moon is stooping.
I want to see you again and again avoid you again and again look for you again and again ignore you again and again.
If there’s time, let’s waste it. If there’s a cop out, let’s go for it If there’s a day to grab, let’s skip it if there’s an afterlife, let’s do it before.
Orange marmalade buses in a traffic jam along the portside street with Vespas and Fiats and pedestrians on rush-hour feet.
Local fishmongers, displaying crab, carp and swordfish, set up stall, while nearby, waterway mermaids wait outside bladderwrackety doors.
Columbus’ city of cats cobbled together like cobblestones curled up on car bonnets or licking on leftover fishbones.
While in Centrostorico in a riotous rundown taverna, a haul of seafarers sink pasta and pesto vino bianco and Grappa.
Having had a breakfast brioche and Caffe Americano on Via Garibaldi, I find myself down by the dock looking out over the Ligurian Sea;
A compass spinning out of control and seagulls circling the crow’s nest. My Aquarian heart, waterladen with what to do next.
Gevova revisited (or Cagliari) I live here in a dinky Genova. Dinky buses and dinky boats and dinky matchbox cars.
A destiny turning on a compass getting dinkier by the minute, I look over a dinky sea with little fish trying to swim it.
Don’t get sea-weedy on me the bladderwrackety blabbermouth says much to the cormorants glee and the seagulls who seagully gaze.
Thinking big makes thoughts brain cell squeeze. Get a dinky breakfast down a via Garabaldi street.
I was talking to a friend tonight about Columbus’ city of cats and got to thinking about how 30 years is a long time but went a bit, or dinkily, like that.
Shuffling school shoes through soggy autumn leaves being told off cos you might get dog shit on them you wallow in unpunishable sin cos the hits keep on coming.
Playing kiss chase and British bulldogs and turning into charging frogs you go as traffic lights to the fancy dress party feeling embarrassing in a mum-painted white sheet with circles in red amber and green.
But there’s no going round in circles here just square roots of how to get out smudging your squared maths exercise book pages with snot you dance in the rain with your flowerpot as heads spin round on a merry go round and grow up to be supply teachers on a roundabout.
Unfortunately, a lighthouse blackout tomorrow with ruddy comic hang-ups of yesterday will shed light on polls today that old fogeys push upon child prodigies to say:
“It’s a wing and a prayer now we’re at the top of the stair with our world ruled by yours as we walk like our pets on all fours.”
Think don’t think. Blink don’t blink. Stay don’t stay. Leave our dusty hang-ups of yesterday to get handled and picked up with kid gloves from this ruddy in-tray.
Every moment makes me think of a minute when any one of them might have changed in sixty seconds. If I was never good enough, that’s too bad. If happiness never made it, that’s sad.
Evenings that went pear shaped in a moment. Days that could have been saved if nights hadn’t left them for dead. I never said anything I meant but what I said was from the gut and I meant everything I said.
pop forget you earn what you get and throwing away your throw away lines won’t save you like some self-proclaimed saviour already in print in a fish ‘n’ chips newspaper
spouting off, drowning in free-flowing words going to towning they say: ‘serves you right!’ cos you couldn’t keep your mouth water-tight
facts get fictionalised in your eyes and you say ‘really?’ that’s not what I meant no comment
Showers splatter unfinished sentences down from hot air word clouds to a thunderous monotonous boom. Nothing gets better or worse as people float hanging from stringless balloons.
City ring roads go round in vicious circles and mayhem motorists get nowhere. Ring a ring a roses school children sing incessantly on repeat and no one ages beyond the moment the traffic jam stuck them there.
Job applications get sent back automatically as last in any queue are in front of the first. Forever ranting rebels and frozen screen visionaries pin their hopes on a monstrous effigy that promises change until it inevitably bursts.
Everything to want is at the top of a spiral staircase. The railings go on and on and walls have the same font graffiti ‘You’ll get there!’ A metronome clicks out the race to the top but there’s no winners or losers, to be fair
I’m not the type to make a scene now maybe but little things might make me go just crazy. I keep myself to myself. It’s good for my health but may well like just kill me.
The funny thing is that I joke about it but something tells me that my smile’s just carpet. I have no need to impress just need to be best in my bullet proof vest.
Got a desire to be a real life swapper to swap my keys in one big bang instant popper. Get away from it all. Greener grass in my holiday hall and top every top with a topper.
If God exists there’s a devil inside maybe maybe and little things may make big things go quite hazy. The world is as it is. It’s got quite a fizz but clicking and pressing buttons is making it lazy.