Inbetween days (a work in useless progress)
A bunch of stuff (a work in useless progress) All the books the ceramic hooks They’re all a bunch of stuff And decks of cards without these shards Are all a bunch of stuff When down below you sip your tea before the fire side The radiator’s got my back And laptop wires and shelves of books await my eyes’ attack The titles and the memories of memory itself Are stacked like figments of a dream That once described the self The desk its grungy patina A map of my endeavours The saucer’s eyes are on me now The skylight sending weather From vistas far and far beyond my tiny brains snow globe A festive trope for everyone and everyone’s bath robe Pockets full of mystery and nameless empty fluff Because the flames nuzzle your knees It’s all just a bunch of stuff The boat is in the doldrums upon a glassy sea Expecting the horizon any day now One two three The poetry of Santa Will Satan’s wisdom be Once we have sailed over the line into a fantasy That we have all agreed is good...