The colour of skim milk
Glutted my sight when the lens stopped focusing.
The skin
An imaginary jaundiced dullness.
I don't hear the modem redialing anymore
I don't notice the silence either.
It's like being submerged in the bath-
The only sound you hear is the muted eerieness of water brushing against acrylic.
When another set of red lights means more thinking time,
And your stilettoed lumbering gait up the stairs reek of catatonia.
When the mobile wakes you rudely with wild vibrations
And you think of yet another excuse, followed obediently with a grownup-type rationalisation.
Today someone teased me with wonders of travel.
Over a cigarette she spoke of her secret passageway out of this humming madness.
In strict confidence she lit my eyes with routes of excitement.
Tomorrow was supposed to be my last Friday,
I thought as the milk crate left kite-like marks on my trousers.
Tomorrow I will type away.
Before the last party-pie day
I will weed the drowsiness.
Desperately seeking days of bronzed orange and nights of diamond-encrusted skies.
Posted by e at May 01, 2003 10:13 PM