Sunday 6 November 2011

ITS SUNDAY O CLOCK, DIANE

i sleep, Diane
but without rest.

i dream, Diane
but without permission.

i drink, Diane
but only tea.

another Sunday, Diane
last night exploding like Sarajevo
and
i
sat
in calm and yawning,
panic
only three old thoughts away.

i'm a jigsaw, Diane
rammed together - there was no clear picture to follow
and
the
weak
cardboard
shapes, Diane, had to be
twisted and
torn and 
forced.

its a mess, Diane
its a picture of me.

its another Sunday, Diane - put the kettle on
i
need
more
calming tea.


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