Self Pity

back paining in day glo
to the tune of an Ice rapper
all down a leafy boulevard
with bent old ladies
and human sympathy
I pick rosemary for the slow cooker
and imagine champagne on ice
the book keeper is a shredder
and the tree surgeons wave me on
like an old man. Next,
they'll be holding doors open
at the RSPCA and refusing me cats
because of the housing benefit.
I grew up on bitten cuts
and I'll die to the sound of their chomping again.
Today, I made miniatures
thinking of schemes:
"Of course, they reference painting -
but the archivist and the cannon
- they are also invoked by the dualling
of slide and mount, picture and self-storage"
I can't even talk proper bolox any more.
Someone forgot to close the door
behind them......
Plans are now formed from beyond the grave
which is, in itself, a peculiar expression
I have noted interesting work in cardboard.