CosmiKnot

 What's the inside of a third year chemistry student's house like? Like this you realise all o a sudden O would some power the gif he gi us Your son the 3rd year chemistry student is ushering you up the stairs towards his small but surprisingly practical bedroom Past the checkered laundry bags which will never know the comforting ever so slightly uplifting aroma of bold bio blue tinged washing powder And instead partially conceal hypothetical (never to be rebuilt) shelving units and well intended veg racks You're trying too hard a voice at your back reminds you as you briefly greet two healthy  tanned and confident housemates One of whom briefly assists you with assembly of your sons desk You have by now learned not to try and be funny Just get in and get the job done Not out of shame or ennui But Love and now though dost protest too much And this is the inside of a third year chemistry students house Behind the white stucco walls Of a third year chemistry student's hou...

Now that's what I call now   You have to admit that Gary Numan may well have had a point But that is the point isn’t it? Isn’t it After all, why should there be a point other than the total of the form itself? Perhaps we are required to listen to his song in the car to experience the fleeting infinity of mind body machine model immersion. Conveniently his single is a singularity in no dimensions And journalism is the calculus of the music world with paper doilies on Gary sings sung sang here in my car I feel safest of all. I can write that down Here on this page And it stops before my eyes The ink drying as I resist the temptation to smear the words Make them less sure of themselves. I did think it might be good to discuss this In the style of Sylvia Plath But that would be derivative Do you see what I did there? I planted a clue for the stalkers out there My fellow stalkers stalking the thing we call the point But you have to talk quietly and keep your distance Or it becomes an ac...

You are in the car reception Waiting for your car to be serviced   Your crutch is on the carpet tile covered floor Beside you You glimpse its large grey rubber end on the taupe texture of the tiles Stout and reassuring Is it you or the car that is being treated you wonder The car is having the oil changed It costs an arm and leg You dislocated your ankle on holiday It felt like a chicken bone when you carve the Sunday dinner Schlplop it went as it slid back into place Like a miracle The car that caused your fall then drove off It didn’t hit you Just threw you off balance You can bet they didn’t fancy that litigious look in your eye As you lay flat on the tarmac Then rose like the dying Gaul To stare in disbelief at the new angle of your ankle Then that schplop as it slid back And here you are now back in England Waiting in a car garage for your car Your crutch at your side Mosquito bites on your legs Soaring to strange heights of...