Phwoah

I wore a pineapple t-shit out to speak.
Dinner was done and I returned home to mashed potato.
ending on sweets in something I heard once.
Sounded sophisticated. So I took tea with honey.
Calming, soothing, chamomile.
I war with the image.
Pineapples. An impossibility of them.
The entire situation. I am the plant in all of this.
A prick. wearing my lost loves like armour.
And the cheat. The cheat that calls my name –
kisses at me with smiling eyes.
Whored thoughts. Sore knees.
Poor morals and a captive audience.
I roll and lay and wish and hide.
My eyes, my truth. Beacons,
Lighthouses that flash past their target.
Brief as anything in this pimple popped life.

And I share. You broke my heart.
I was horrible. “Duncan this, Duncan that”.
Talk of your self. Talk of your own experience.
Stringing me out to dry.
The ineviability of the horrible conversation.
Ultimatums and freedom.
I just wanted company, closeness.
Not this, not this.

I met a publisher tonight. My tired mind.
The games we play. Always-
The lost love and shared time.
Glass can be mended.
Shattered I am INDEED.
Tired. Though not of games.
“Tramborine” and 10 things I hate about you.
She spoke to me of MONA.
She worked for BLACK INC.

The computer crashed I thought I lost it all…
All of that.
The rush of sharing it all, getting it all down.
The hollowness of words.
The lips, the soft shirt.
The buttons. Novelty buttons.
Old times and new and the promises.
The restriction we put on ourselves.
We are so careful. So fucking careful.
And I break it.
It’s all suppressed. And i’m not happy. Just busted up.
Eyes sagging, burping carrot slaw.
Slowly, garlic and the gum and the closeness overwhelms.
Whelms. Europe.
I need to run away.
Time to cool, to rest relax.

All this writing and the experience of dinner.
Dessert.
Gravity.
Weight.
Halves.
Languages.
Underpants.

Table and Cup.
Vonnegut.

Everything is temporary!
Tattoos (there’s a joke here)
My body aches.
Tears and the fear of your loneliness.
This privileged-
Spelling. And the spelt in the crust.
How do you spell that?
and how I felt after you left?

It all coming crashing down around me.
Edinburgh, the milk of trades.
This has tuned to nonsense. But we’ll roll on.
I don’t know what to do.
And the temptation is there. Biblical, annanas.
It’s who you know and the black shoes of ASOS.
Conversations around the campfire of walking over hot ashes.

Flighty home-alone.
Women. Terrify.limit
I myself Hiding.

And thats not enough. So vauge,
barely phased.
How the process works.
You’re smell is intoxicating.
I feel like i’m going to pass out.
Coming close to kissing you.
And the ability to forgive.
Do people ever change?

I know.
I knew.
You cheat and cheat.
And I check.
Check out.
Broken hearted again.
Friends.
So many smart, brilliant friends.
But alone I lay.
Grounded, lost in the barn.
hay and grass and bleeding water.
Neat as pins. And there are no cushions.
I hate you I hate you I hate you.
Pins insert into my temples.
and my blood remembers.
“parcels” are my gift.
You are my girl.

Beers in forklifts.
Time passing.
Relevance lost.
Time to think.
Intellectualized love.
Foils and flummoxing wants.
Touch and wrinkled nose.
an uppercut to you,
to your homestead.

People wouldn’t listen to me half as much if I was ugly.
and that terrifies me.

TIM TIM TIM!

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