Blue Monday
Blue Monday's
Sliding across
grey morning
rain for company
library shut down
I pray for
an opening
not of heavens
not for sunshine
just an opening
to divide
the day
into lots
pulling at straw
longer than
a piece
of string
seems a good
chance for
sunshine
tomorrow
still it's
better
to live in hope
than chase
a blue Monday.
Rotten fruit.
Washed out
wandering
through
these gardens
of tropical
illusions
a zoo
of evolution
half made
progressions
faltering
into dreams
of footsteps
across a
haunted, hollow,
moonscape
one small
step
for
fiction
one giant
leap
for a distant
dream
Marijuana
Transparent
as a voice
lingering
well after
sanity
has been
corrupted.
Sweet
relief.
A nightmare
follows
- joining -
a joint
into three
dots
of unanswered
ramblings
until
the remains
are jangling:
a scarecrow
of empty
possibilities...
PSYCH WARD.
Scratching at
his wrists
more actor
than madman.
Itchy skin
and pale
blue eyes
glazed
from
sedatives.
He draws
nothing
in particular
- just a flower -
large
oval
shapes
that he
calls a
garden.
My voices
can't trust
him.
So I stay
quiet.
I learn
to mutter
myself
into a
quiet place.
Until
there
are ten
voices
telling
me
each moment
what to
say, eat, but
not to speak.
Silence
the golden
expletive
driving
me back
to a scuttled
life.