reading my last entry
and the arrogance that
exuberated from
my foolish little words
i feel that
justice is being
awfully poetic.

no
...
justice is being
herself.

chemistry;
the easiest to study
the easiest to fail.

slipped out
of the a-block
in a numb sort of
subconscious.

didn't even bother
waiting for jane
to wish her good luck.

not sure whether to burst
into tears
((but i've done enough crying))
or tap dance up the hill.

the hem of
my pants
are dragging
along the ground.
cement saturated sky

i look at my chem notes
in my folder
& swear under my breath

i walk.
there is just no way
that i can sit down
and sort this out
without yelling.

a little wooden maze
make corners for my feet.
on milroy avenue
i touch a gold coin
with my shoe

it doesn't even quiver.

i want to laugh
i want to smile
i want to curse
and run
and cry

i want some sleep.

moving until i
meet a bench
a glimmer-evil green.
but my impatience
leaves it
in the distance

at the twist of road
i find
yellow flowers
soaking, sullen and sad
meshed into the rain

under the bridge
there is
a collection of junk
i glance at what looks like
an old super-soaker.

i am tempted to pick
the thing up and
carry it home.

but i am far
too trapped
in my self-pity
to allow
even a hint
of happiness.

on epsom road
i begin to think
that my shoes are made
of cardboard and satin

on the footpath
a fragment of
poster has been
plastered to the ground
it says;
retrospe...

retrospect; i've
had enough of that.

sit at the bus stop
impatient but warm.
and watch the people
who seem to have
no place to be.

one man wanders past
with his luggage thrown
over his shoulder.
i can't imagine where he's going.

i begin to wonder whether
i make these things up.
maybe i'm the only one
who bothers making
a point
of such things

a carload of idiots
beep their horn and
wave.
under normal
circumstances
i would swear at them
or make a gesture
with my finger.

this time i
give a dirty look
and think
you don't even need a pulse

you see;
i am wearing my glasses,
this sack they call
the jersey,
and my hair looks as though
i don't know what
shampoo is.

i step on the bus and
find a streak of blue
amongst the clouds.

while i walk
past the park
i think;
if i only lived at
this house here,
i'd be home by now

i decide to
buy a chai latte,
and a sandwich.
read poetry
in the grass

but here i am
pouring out my
thoughts.
because somehow this
makes things seem fine.

but don't you see?
i write it down
on my head,
so i won't say it
by my mouth.