There is nothing

There is nothing

Here but the noise

Of my brain steaming

Like an old train

A clock with a busted spring

I should have known

It would be like this.

Every time I watch the rain

The light goes out

I should have called about

A medicare card

But I have a life to live.

Waiting for the call to connect

Is a slow death

Attributable to lack of air

On a G string.

If I didn’t have tinnitus

There would be no sound at all.

Too many poems

Have been written

To be discarded

Disregarded in spades.

It is only the whisky

Breath

That gives it away.

As the elephants

Take over the park

The moon drips waxily

Onto the ocean

Creating a glutinous mass

And I would brave an early bath

To savour the meaning

Of downtime

As a construct

Worthy of repetition.

If I was a catholic

You could have my confession

Although cryptic

It would be honest

I can be a hypocrite

But not where the truth

Is contained within a margin

For error.

Too many use forgiveness

As an expedient

Whilst plotting revenge

On an unsuspecting world.

I feel like that sometimes

About call centres

And if I hear

“We care about your call”

One more time,

I will paint my window red.