MONDAY – MONDAY
a poem by J H Martin
Every morning
Of every evening's afternoon
I wake up
And I want to drink the world dry
Of these thoughts and these words
That spin faster and faster
But only ever come to stand still
In this darkness
Of their distracting rays
I just want to shoot up their buildings
And rail their concerns
And lift my eyes back up from the floor
Those cracks and those stains
That no clever clever language can mend
Duì - je m'enfous
E me suda la polla
Now – Lock that door behind you
And leave me the hell alone
To filter out your painted blue sky
To cook up your frozen feelings
And to chase your graveyard
Filled with faceless memories
From the aluminium foil of this mind
Come on – Monday
Time to stop your tired rehearsal
And let the real damage begin
That sweet tourniquet flood
That warm Temazepam crush
That fall and collapse
Of all your civil yesterdays
Put on my own self imposed probation
By this cheap misfiring lighter
And this oxidized and blackened skin
Burning
Burning
Every night of every morning
Every last one of your Sunday screens
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