automatic writing #12

two, three days caught in the fog &the backwash of lingering ideas &

                               bruised thoughts 

neglection of personal hygiene saw the dogs come round, sniffing for buried treasure 

                      no religious inclination – the only Jesus he knew was a skateboarder from a coastal town – 
a plane crashed into a mountain but others say the mountain crashed into the plane – shades of grey

like elephants in rooms &

skeletons under beds
 to many hours spent contemplating the faded Xs on the maps, detective novels piled by the door – scribbled notes in dust 
she confided in me one night about her theories on the pyramids, the space landing and things under the sea 
there was no alchemy 
dull throb &. the ache 

at the temples 

Michael needs his prescription –



Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s