In My Fist

I can see it but

my fingers keep

telling me

forty-six and a quarter

flamingly mindbending

lies and blurtruths

which are one and the same

Of course

What's wrong with me

Stretched my legs

on the responsive bed

And let

my big fat head

Fall back en route

to the welcoming pillow

But why is it taking

a thousand phone calls

to a capsicum-eating toad?

When will my sodding head

get to the crashing pillow?

Where am I at?

Are we there yet?

Oh, come on, come on

VanillacordialDiageocorpBoiledEggWithrunnyyolkSambharricereadymadeLetitbleedLetitfesterLetitgetinfected