Imaginary Drug

You’re like a drug when
I watch you on the screen.
You make me believe I
could fall in love with a block
of unkempt cheese.

Dude, how did you do it
to yourself and to me?

Unattainable folks with cash
and bad haircuts,
but you’re a bit nonplussed.

My feet tingle as you hold
that piece of plastic in your
hand, but how old are you really?

You’re fucking the cardboard box
of my life with a blunt knife,
but I don’t really care how you do it.

Continue to undress in irony,
or act like your the ultimate corporation as you place your name on every plaque.

Whatever the case, dude, you’ll be using a walker soon and I’ll be wishing I’d said something nice to the lady down the road before she died from a pinprick.

The coming storm

It’s been too long for you and me, but we cannot touch for the sun is too hot and our skin too dry.

The humidity creeps higher and higher, yet there’s no relief in this hell. Nature wants her way.

I would tell you about my day, then you could do the same, but we’re too spent to move about.

Then the buzz begins. We are electric and wired to what’s coming from the atmosphere.

Birds in the sky fly away or chat madly in the trees; there’s so many parrots, sparrows, a few cockatoos, and rosellas.

The cat meows nervously, begins to purr loudly, and rubs against us hoping for a lap or pats.

Outside the wind picks up, the trees blow about, and the madness sets into our minds.

We’re wired and starting to feel increasingly weird when the lightning crashes.

Then the rain begins to pour hard. We start to smell the rain and then we feel the change.

Laying about listening to the rain, we begin to touch one another. Our skin is so wet now.

The Grumpy One

Listless and upset.

You sit clutching the remote control as if pressing the buttons will make things better.

He sits over there horny and haggard from listening to your grumpy taunts.

You’re upset with yourself more than anyone else, but you take it out on him.

He wonders when you’ll come to realise those pork sausages are the culprit.

You’re plagued by atrabilious feelings, which only heightens your cloudy thinking.

He does something out of character and gives you a Stomach Ezzy with water.

You’re so shocked you drink it, even though you’d like to cry into the glass.

He sits by you and waits with his eyes closed, for he feels the shit inside of you.

You feel rotten and put the glass and remote down, then paw his legs and feet.

He smiles and opens his eyes to say, “I see your mood’s improving little cat”.

You want to take the piss, but think better of it. All you can say is, “I’m sorry”.

He says, “Pretty one, that is enough…”