Flicks a switch
metallic eyes twitch
another
new day begins

The meeting place
face to face
a handshake to break
the spell.

Well
it's a load of old Hocus Potus

There is no magic in the tragic
which is in itself a tragedy.

We're being played
and
not knowing the game
we get played
again and again.

Status Quo is not just a rock band

Sat in a hot tube
wishing I had an ice cube
to **** on.

There is no get out clause
Santa Clause
just a small pause
at every station.

This underground
is not the Velvet one
although I can hear that song
playing
but it's not on the wild side
doors will open on the right hand side.

A woman sits next to me
slips into her seat
as if she's Mercury
and she might be
what do I know?

We might all be liquid
tidal
some become suicidal
I ruminate on this.

Almost there
I almost always am.

Dreams of Sarawak
knick-knack
bric a brac
my nightmares make no sense.

But on I go
I never know where
or what to wear
or is that Ware in Hertfordshire?

Unsettled
but not in Settle
because that's in Yorkshire.

Waking in an unmade bed
random thoughts
in a scrambled head
those things I dread
are gone along with sleep.

Coffee time at six-nineteen
a spoon of sugar
a tot of cream
scrolling up and down the screen
another dream of Sarawak.

Retracing steps
gets you back
to where you
once were
but
it's never the same
almost as if
they rebooted the game
using different rules.

I'm guessing that
it's life that schools you
and living it fools you
into thinking that you're
drinking from a full cup.

The enchanted became the disenchanted
when the wood was put on the fire,
but I'm sure the author saw that coming,

moving on past chapter one to a computer screen
because writing paper became passé
perhaps that was seen coming too.

There are aeroplanes and aquaplanes
neither one could plane a four by two
like my Father used to do.

The dinner ladies came on the bell
us as kids would run like hell to get
a chair and stuff our hungry faces
sitting there and although a room
there was no class,
we were all the same
waiting for the time to pass
until dinner time came around again.

In fact
everything we ever saw
was waiting for
something.

The olden days were not the golden days
we often think they were.