PIZZAFACE

 The best you can hope for 

Is to be a nobody; if line breaks mattered then

Everyone would use 

Them

Pile up on top of dead poets

Empty metal muse

Too much pain in the land dipping frozen

Yogurt over barely moving fingers

Can we help?

Addicted to opiates and sympathy

A victim culture foisted on a wheel chair

Bound scudding over the white cliffs of Dover

What would you have us do? Mental gossamer weighted

Like small honey sacks; those funny bee stocking legs

Chubby with pollen

The garden rosary compost, mildew egg yolk spillage

Treats a golden glow. Now your sad you said.

Now I can’t reach out to anything

Turning inwards combusting 

 

Popped emergency garden bubble

Long talk summer stockings 

Taken over the sea

As you will see.

If you can hear it you must be deaf, swallows screaming come

On England maybe perhaps or whatever

My friend calls from a guesthouse called the

‘Astral Lodge’. That’s where you’ll find me when your down

Around about your lowest ebb; I’ll step in, I’m there, friendship ready

As things get better we’ll loosen the ties; see around bad memory you’ll soon forget. Get a haircut, shave and move on. The low ebb guy: ready, willing and able. For desperate friendship needs. Skulking in the deserted bush shelter of half-asleep nights. The one underneath the shopping precinct; with the air ashy with fumes noxious. Every move a stale mate. All that yoga gone to waste; broken in a minute. Running too fast to keep up, slipped on that old banana skin that was always there, waiting for us to come along, to intersect with its orbit.

Flying now      airborne joy ride bone pleasing backwards snap. The clear-away to get to it, is mostly too much now. The complexities are manifold

Time      lapse integer muffled rapid deterioration paranoid coupe home spun distance learning on-line patter.