After a decade of indwelling Hermione spluttered…

Princess Juliana by Kevin Weir

 

– In about half-four?

Eventless so it is for waiting

here is stifling dull

the enervation so immense

it aches her now

each silly little thing phases you again,

envelopes you in wireless waves,

induces permaflop

On waking up, the news app tells me

all Turks rise up from oppressive sheets

and that a

shocking percentage of  the obese can bend

their slothful feet in the middle at will

Can badgers bend their feet in the middle at will too?

Make a note of that.

–Why bother?

Pop Up!

each  & every time it is written it is read  frequently with a view to publishing, thus revealing the lack of output and quality,

symptomatic of the pernicious drivel of the web, dangling out the sort of wealth that distracts from obscene penury.

The allure compels bad writing like

the ticking off to a nuisance child breeds sullen rage, a temper tantrum never aggravated an annoying fly. In this sea of sludgy dross what chance the poor genius who don’t think in code but coneys?

Self-promotion is the answer we are fed and therein lies the rub.  For being a shy retiring violet with a gargantuan appetite for blood who never courts controversy or mere attention,

my chances of breaking through to international recognition are all but diddley squat

yet still you write, says Pop Up at last

The sun is beginning to shine and I have a Venezuelan cat-burglar cheesy  like a Cheshire Catb getting on the tit; with a little ermine ketchup and sharp scimitar mustard I  will be loin-girded to two-face the travails of fast fake days in real time…

so you pretty much write this garbage to dump it on, to let off steam, move the lonely muscle…?

when you put it like I cry

How do you thing that we feel?

Ecstatic