MONDAY – MONDAY

a poem by J H Martin

Every morning

Of every evening’s afternoon

I wake up

And I want to drink the world dry

Of these thoughts and these words

That spin faster and faster

But only ever come to stand still


In this darkness

Of their distracting rays

I just want to shoot up their buildings

And rail their concerns

And lift my eyes back up from the floor


Those cracks and those stains

That no clever clever language can mend


Duì – je m’enfous

E me suda la polla


Now – Lock that door behind you

And leave me the hell alone


To filter out your painted blue sky

To cook up your frozen feelings

And to chase your graveyard

Filled with faceless memories

From the aluminium foil of this mind


Come on – Monday

Time to stop your tired rehearsal

And let the real damage begin


That sweet tourniquet flood

That warm Temazepam crush

That fall and collapse

Of all your civil yesterdays

Put on my own self imposed probation

By this cheap misfiring lighter

And this oxidized and blackened skin


Burning

Burning


Every night of every morning

Every last one of your Sunday screens

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