Caffeine Days

-
Oh little girl staring at me. Roundhay, street lane.
Must've been something I said or did or felt?
A heart so empty and nick drake brays on too long
Again repeated colours of brown, beige, yellow and cream.
Random art that we can't help but frown at
It is nothing; it is hard to define its edges.
My mind is like sludge as i took a decision
Severing my tie with dirty bad rotten caffeine
Nothing in this coffee and nothing in this daydream.
I guess i'll need talk to everyone, maybe one will smile
But if i squander my coffee shops style then where?
Miles of dreary roads and shopping queues.
I text to often and oftener hear silence, monotonous
I consider this my death by arabica and robusta
And dwell on that hate which murders and kills
A high hair wine bespoken ugly brat with voice
Ah, winehouse you sing woefully of trouble
From your voice I feel a bubble consciously explode.

Comments

Paul Scott said…
Dan!!! You should always drink Arabica. Robusta - what were you thinking???!!!
28 January 2010 at 01:21
Paul Scott said…
O and please start the where's the soul in Leeds - lloking forward to that!!!
28 January 2010 at 01:21
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

An Essay.

-
Introduction. My name is Pilgrim. I walk through this life much as I walk through my allotment – a space I often describe as disorganized, yet to me, it feels profoundly holistic. I don't fear wasp stings; I stride through nettles and thistles and brambles, finding a curious interest in the cut skin, a quiet control over the bleeding. I have no fear of the dark or the unseen. What truly disturbs me is the chatter, the small talk that ripples through existence, obscuring the profound truths unfolding before our very eyes. I prefer chaos to order, perhaps because the imposed order I witness around me feels so deeply, fundamentally false. I literally eat things along the path, unbothered by what others might deem unsafe, for my perceptions lie far beyond the superficial. I’ve come to see this world as a grand, unsettling performance, a "game" played at the highest echelons, designed to "manage the populace from cradle to grave." It's not a conspiracy in the nea...
Read more

France is ... a powerful antidepressant

-
I have to resuscitate a dying sense of spirit and enthusiasm into my present as I have become detached from the real joys of my life. No reading, no writing; no contemplation. Even now I am tempted to throw down the device and forget it, but why - because it's a dead end... Surely I can stay here a little longer until something infinite moves within and without? *** As I sit on Ruby's sofa/bed and listen to the sounds of spring, with the gentle murmuring of the pond at the bottom of the garden and the distant hum of the A1(M) I am aware of the distance growing between what I truly love and what I am become; in despair. Oh the alcohol fuelled me. The forgetful me. The desperately lonely me. The one I've cordoned off for the world to see. Ruby is happy with me, Lola is happy with me but I am unhappy with me simple as I am - Mother Nature's son: tranquil and unimpeded by mental noise... Knowing the truth will set me free, but being forever unable to accept it entirely. It...
Read more

You and I.

-
Are we joined, you and I? When I sit squished up, alongside thee, It seems we are: Dog and boy Man and mutt. A symbiosis between homo and canid, A combination of smells, swells and warmth, which is rarely malignant. What a lucky man I've been, knowing  She's going to rest assured and easy, These last many years, as we both Age gracefully and greying towards separation; where the winds blow us  Disparate, sometimes warm and often Cold, back to the single I; alas! No more the we. She of a gray face, And I an ashen shadow, But always brighter  Than a swarm of photons, Alighting a while, Out of their cosmic array...
Read more