strong coffee

i need a strong coffee.
strong coffee wakes me up.
an arabica pick me up
in a pick me up cup.

early afternoon.
my mind is dull.
my brain is full
of tiresome junk.

my synapses spit, crackle
as neurones pitter patter.
not particularly rushed,
my brain stays hushed.

i need a strong coffee.
strong coffee wakes me up.
an arabica pick me up
in a pick me up cup.

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little people

a
late afternoon frappé latte,
(just to be contrary)
as the chill nips
the poor bastards
outside.

a
twitter ding.
a reality check,
as i listen to Beck
and Marianne Faithful.

a retweet.
neat.

the
cafe is full of little people,
doing little people things.
queuing in little people queues
for their little people donut rings.

i am SO bored.
i sip another sip of frappé latte.
another glorious brain freeze.

it’s raining now and

i shiver at the thought
of walking home
in the rain,
in the breeze.

 

time to wake up

scatter cushions

bought
without a thought
for their
impact on society
and the
long-term effect
on my
fragile sobriety

once
again
i’m faced
with yet another
bag of mundane
geometric squares
of cotton and
leopard printed
terylene

i drift
into nirvana
to escape.

slipping on
banana skins
diving into
ice cream tubs
smothered in
raspberry ripple
with caramel
wafers.

i scream.

the cushions
blend in with
the bowls of
random stones
and the bones
of my ancestors.

phantasmagoric
dreams

rain taps the window.
feet tap the floor.

time to wake up.

figs. roasted.

i am
roasting figs
ketchuped with honey
and orange juice
hissing in a hot oven
like a cat
surprised and
shot in the bottom

the sky outside
has cooled as a storm
approaches and the trees whip
and the river foams

figs.
roasted.
in honey.
in orange juice.

we are watching tv.
something simple
something easy
about a car crash,
something
easily
mentally
digestible.

the figs are ready.
smothered in marscapone.
luscious
sweet.

the wind sighs
outside.

the girl on the tv
in the car crash dies.

and fig juice drips
down my chin.

the sky outside is ominous
like life.

i have fig skin
between my teeth.

i am annoyed.

the wind howls.

Trapped in puddles

the rain is unbearable.
and so sad. and so melancholic.
chaotic and utterly wonderful.

colour is ripped from the sky
and drowned in the afternoon gloom
by grey storm clouds which hang
like veils over the blue

a kaleidoscope of umbrellas
of all shapes and sizes
do battle with the elements
eyes down, tippy toe stiletto steps

as a windblown umbrella blows by
like wet tumbleweed.

what little surviving light is left,
is trapped in puddles…strangled and dying

indoors, water beats on the roof
and feet tap to the frantic drumming
as kitchens choke with the wet dog smell
of wet dogs shaking and children gaze,
elbows on window sills, at the river
of rain that they’re not allowed out to play in.

i throw another log on the fire.
open a book. pour a glass of amber heat.
at my feet, a cat for company.
curled up in the warmth. in the dry.

and the rain is unbearable.
and so sad. and so melancholic.
chaotic and utterly wonderful.

Man Flu and Bottom Masurgling

a cruel east wind blew
a cruel east wind flu
with snot-filled clouds
to rain its cruel snotty
rain all over me and

my living room is now
cratered like an alien moon
with crumpled crusty tissues,
alive with bacterium and
green with bogey gloop and

not to forget my poop,
explosive thunderous gurgling
as tummy tells bottom
to let rip with doomsday like
toilet-bowl breaking,
bowel-bashing masurgling and

i am choc full of chicken soup,
toast and bland accompaniments.
surrounded by nasal sprays
and other medicinal accoutrements,
designed to dull my symptoms
and steady this wretched ship

as i slip in and out of
consciousness, a martyr to
this dreaded disease that
you call manflu (which is
a disgraceful malign) i will
soldier on manfully and
given care and time and
understanding i may someday
be normal again.

in the meantime,
i will
moan
and
lounge
and
whine
and
bitch
and
with heavy eyes and through
cracked lips intone my earnest
manly prayer for influenza salvation.