Four minutes past late
The long and the short of it…
Cleared out the empties.
Priced up cheapo books for Juul;
Made some fresh coffee;
What’s to do next, Boss?
Review the twelvemonth, Arthur!
The third Afghan War
proved a futile sacrifice
same as the first two
Old top brass eye up the next,
mothers weep for a tearless world,
alcohol poisoning
has doubled, trebled, wobbled
quadrupled…collapsed.
Anything else, Boss?
A hard shoulder to cry on
Last Night of…
extreme dreams,
stark monochrome fluid,
freeway floral wallpaper,
rotting damasks, shillelagh,
almonds and formaldehyde.
White light, white sheet.
Jammin’ Jerusalem
Jute wailing bunnies.
Then,
exhausted from the lie-in:
cobalt clear still sky
flossed with high flying drifts,
orchestras of demi-gods trail
home spent.
We scavenge the tepee for beans,
celebrate love apples with libations of strong coffee,
and weep and fear for the band snakes,
Asian gators, and tigers on the fridge, hiding behind
the fabric conditioner, still ready to pounce on sleepy
Moorhen’s eggs.
Your runnin’ and
your runnin’ and
your runnin’ away
from yourself.
Grimbeau 