I was trying not to post quite so much poetry but I can’t seem to stop. How goes your holidays? I’ve been wondering about work. I’m out of work at the moment and can’t seem to find anything suitable. I’m told that if I just keep doing what I love, then I’ll find something that pays me for it.
Perhaps that is right. In which case, there you go. I like writing poetry.
an insignificant date
and another year is nearly at a close.
the last month of the year
the time they all string up the pretty lights and
have trees inside
celebrating some holiday
i do not.
four fifty-three pm
feels like the numbers should be switched around
to re-order time
but i already know that can’t be done.
i wonder if i should tell them
i was about to post a picture of a man
with a chainsaw.
and the colour red?
but i don’t think that would somehow
pull everything back together
the way it should be.
i don’t think anything in this world