By the Stream (of consciousness)

A poem commentary

A few more steps to go

until I reach

the island of Success,

imprisoned in the stream

(of consciousness).

I am

nudged by nervous tremors

forwards -- hardly moving,

hardly standing still,

a few more steps to go,

cold, wet feet.

On the way I picked a flower

feeling exceptional.

I am sincerely hoping

others don't feel

exceptional

like

me--

all the flowers

will be gone.

Thumbs wrapped up

in glue and marley,

pale until the knuckles,

freckles like caramel crumbs

until the slender wrists;

the only body part that is not soft.

I insist

the destruction will never stop,

then you

with words about berries end it? 

I become too busy with drinking juice.

Copy, Paste, 

Copy, Paste, 

Copy, Paste, 

Copy, Paste, 

Copy, Paste, 

Copy, Copy,

Paste, ?,

Delete,

Copy, Paste,

Copy, Paste.

Confined in an Attic Submarine O-21*,

my windows only depict

blue blue sometimes white

but mostly blue.

Does my window know

other shapes exist?

a dull grey dull--

all I think of is plain planes

of blue blue my breath of white

but mostly blue.

*O 19 and sister O 20 

were Dutch submarines in WWII.

First to run with diesel when submerged

a terrifying family.

 

IKEA cardboard packaging

nicely recycled into a painting.

Water colours don't love brown backgrounds,

they conform and decease

into IKEA cardboard packaging

guised as a painting

next to an IKEA drawer.

tbc...