Sometimes it’s a decade before the world finally hits.
For instance: the simple life caught up with you
by accident. Outside, the heads of kangaroos
are put in a bucket and mashed up like potatoes.
There is always infrastructure, or lack of it:
the papers piling up on the desk, the shortage
of housing. The plants reach towards the light
like silence reaches towards sound, and you
no longer know where to put the slap-dash
of your life-waste. Empty those buckets
on the neighbor’s front porch and go home
to your wife. Fuck her from behind and then
make her a cup of tea, as if that’s a decent reach
towards equality. On the other side of accident
green turns to brown which turns to green again.
Plurality becomes one-one, not one-two,
which is not sense – it’s nonsense, and kangaroos.
1 August 2018