Wednesday, 15 June 2011

Octopuses Garden

As of if to lodge a toothpick in my brain,
as if to climb up and grapple with the feelings that refrain,
that restrain me, such a well trained me, so ill explained me,
a crumbling block of cookie dough, sweet unnecessary nothing,
tumbling from the kitchen slate to be swept and taken out,
by any old clown with a broom, who wants to clear the room,
who wanted you first, who wanted you well early, but not too soon.
I'm here all cut up and in pieces, it just kills me to think of you,
getting all doe eyed over some ignorant nothing, with a smart shirt,
all buttoned to the collar, filled up with the smell of himself,
so organized and confident, yet bitterly bitterly mundane.

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