Only do a job if you can do it well.
Starting is the hardest.
You’re back you’re back.
I’m lost in thought and happy to hold you.
In my arms, like the bare farms, or cardless diceless faces.
Landing and flipping- cutting luckily to the point.
Sides beside reside confide in hope.
RESUME when work asks how you are.
We flirt with flighty ideals. The push and pull of
-you could do better-
Oppon. The one headed coin, two headed luck.
No shower can stop this degree of sitting.
Side splitting, hitting lost remitting mittens.
Having kittens with how my plans shift so much.
Munchy lost returning wattle of the grey scaled lust of other worldly possession.
We wait for what could and could not be.
reinforcing out hearts and options.
Falling hard. On our knees, our arms outstreched.
Covering eyes. Tired hopeful feelings of trust.
No abandon will cover how we have felt in the past.
The job that needs doing.
Pregnant labours of lusting collection.
Sheets of red, pallid cold showers bleed in the past.
Fast felt obsessions run riot over my shivering body and the rules make no sense.
I’ll shout and lie and tile.
Roof of houses, floors and knees.
Baby please, listen to my integrity.
The sharp end of it all is lost on you and me.
I’m growing –
around, out away, alone. Heaping heartless folds.
Crust of crayons ebb with torn halves of peaches.
Features and benefits of my studies escape me.
The stolen lives of academics as they posture and play at some otherworldly-
hardworking green, moulding myrtle.
Mass death aids our foreign contingency.
A seriousness of the ritual.
Passing on from age. The time is upon us.
Daily birth, and self worth. Finite timeframes gloss over our plastic snap frozen limbs.
Curt assesment of sweating limbs-
Showing out guts gone von.
Vulnerable but I didn’t tell you the plot at the start.
The style shifts.
Tell them what you will tell them.
Then tell them what you told ’em.
Time licks. Radiant. Wallowing.
Screaming cartoon. Frazzled hair-
and a head guzzling midriff.
Are you free for a walk?
A proposal we all want.
Access, love in kind.
Pieces of lemon, segments and rind.
Findout what it is you want.
Lust over and be OK.
Perhaps I am nothing after all,
the centre of the universe.
The only matter that makes this disembodiment real,
unfathomable flowing into circumstances of other.
Strange, bare, irrelevant outsides.
revealing cards of red and black.
The saboteur –
I never was any good at that, no choice of role.
Just thrust into it. Between two rocks.
A bun, chummy and cordial else lost in the bush.
Flush with envy and chaos. Annoyed at formula and irreverent of all else.
Psycho trope executed, you never know what you’ll get.
get yours. up yours. flawed. floored.
lusting garden gnomes. Dicking digging stealing. Hearts and breath.
And here I am, possibly misunderstanding, definately misunderstood –
probably a sociopath.
This melancholic boy
Badly bitchin’ math.