Blue Monday

 

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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.

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