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.

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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.