Monday 15 April 2013

BLUE GREY MONDAY


monday is cotton blue
and
cloud
smudged
and begins in a calm fug of exhaustion thats delicious

still-pond-mind makes breakfast like zen
and
washes
the
dreams from my eyes like theyre paupers feet
all without rush or buzzing static

but 
later
my hands have their own life - pretty aliens
follow
muscle
memory
doing the work for the cash
and
my
voice grows an echo thats someone elses bellow
a bigger mans/who speaks without lengthy thought
and
no clean laughs or swear banter 
bounce off the pinboard walls

its a blip
i know its a blip

a blip where chaos reigns mad behind the slow work
and 
nothing can ever be completely finished 
or satisfactorily resolved
and 
where time is running short of nails to cling on with . . .

and 
later i'll shave my head for control




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