Monday night my head spins
Reality and fiction sunken in
Sugar rush tires me but keeps me
Awake, I whirl in everlasting anxiety
I am panicking, how much time do we have
Left, something’s not
Right, my brain is shutting
Down, deeper into knots of
Self-doubt as if someone enabled
Occlusion culling, why can’t I see?
What’s in store for me? I can’t?
See what? Is in front of me?

saturday noon, we sit on solitary metal plates,
i see tomorrow’s windows through your wise old eyes
overlooking grey skies, the monotonicity of life,
“everyone wakes up, works, and sleeps at the same time..."

your voice trails off as the train taking our rest arrives.

I’ll continue to tell you I’m busy
As it releases me from confrontation
If I never must explain myself
I’ll stay in content sedation
Maybe if I push you away
I’ll get some sense of salvation
Simply need to escape this
Leave it to a simple serration

my father sat in a pool
of mid-morning sunshine
on the raised patio
overlooking the garden
an open book in his lap
the dog asleep at his side
the lightest of clouds
decorating the horizon
and a whisper of leaves
his only distraction

as i rushed to the kitchen
for a hastily made
better-than-nothing version
of a flat white
that i wouldn't even enjoy
only ten minutes to spare
before yet another meeting
i paused for a moment
to take in this scene
resplendent as he was
peacefully present
behind the radiance
of diaphanous lace
breeze-rippled curtains
suffused with sunlight

a pertinent reminder
of something which
i didn't have time
to consider

there is water
somewhere on my right
i can hear it
the gentle patter
of what must be
a delicate fountain
hidden amongst
the foliage and flowers
of freshly bloomed lilies
or falling from a feature
at the water's edge
there is a far-distant
rumble of jet engines
undoubtedly drawing
trails of vapour
across an otherwise
unblemished blue
sounds of traffic
dulled to almost nothing
a background hum
barely noticeable
even the unfamiliar
shrieking of a siren
as it passes by
cannot overpower
the drawn-out strains of violin
the rasgueado strum of guitar
the echoed stomp and clap of dancers
performing or practicing
in front of the monument
to a public figure
of some kind
that i would likely
not recognise or be aware of
on the other side of the park
a clock tower bell
chimes the hour
two o'clock
setting a fluttering
of birds to wing
chattering on the breeze
the seemingly constant
pattern of clicking heels
and scuffed steps
along the nearby path
tell of an exhaustive
cosmopolitan life
a dog begins barking
as i open my eyes
reminding me of home

Returning nests to their trees
Raking the wind for the leaves
You’re too busy to miss me

Creating shadows behind a screen
Stitching seasons at their seams
You’re too busy to miss me

Gathering the stars and their gleam
Scattering fears and their screams
You’re too busy to miss me

Washing winter in it’s stream
Painting the world a brighter green
You’re too busy to miss me

Missing me would mean
taking away your dream
…so please, don’t miss me

At 1:01, break

Passed a bit ago, late day

Per the usual