STRANGE AFTERNOON

this afternoon is stale is strange is naked.

i am as exposed

as global money (never heard of sums so big).

i am a gaping bag of sorry guts.

the Dr 

could SEE

could SEE 

but couldnt HELP me/found me funny

and he referred me

to a hospital I have to ring myself.

in the shop the shop was strange.

colours and shapes/just 

colours and shapes

and i am in the cool cool aisle of glass

in the supermarket so cold

but i have no list with me;

i am not capable of that.

no system . . . nothing at all/just 

nothing at all

but a spaced out funk punk filling a plastic basket

with any wine/sundries that 

catch my lost eyes.

sticking with only wine i am back home.

drink it from the bottle

straight from the bottle thats on the kitchen table

under the clock i watch thinking and thinking.

i pace the tobacco carpet

looking at the dead street out the windows.

there is horrible rain out there

dark and falling

just dark and falling.

i am Jack Bauer’s third runway
this

weird Monday naked afternoon . . .

a Monday afternoon

when the Dr. SAW me but couldnt HELP me.