| this is oh so blue A MAGAZINE OF FICTION, POETRY & MORE! |
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| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ISSUE #14 $O.OO |
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| July 2004 |
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| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
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| © 2004 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
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| Tangented Badly (Climbing the Greasy Pole) |
| by Chris Waugh |
| the familiar black wave of depression billows forward in my mind hemispheres battle for supremacy a ground war bloody, wasteful resources consumed with voracious ferocity anodes, cathodes the rusty fur of electrolysis collects on terrified receptors neurons - defeated, battered, deflated i sit silently blissfully unaware on a pock-marked, pitted duvet drinking diary notes on a desktop: *client representative *confirm start date *impart information an idea comes and goes from my mind in a heartbeat don't waste your talents don't waste your breath you can't dig your talons into my neck like you did all the rest picture perfect you glide and you float devour and gloat she moves like a shoal of brightly coloured fish through water then a spat breaks out desks, tables are overturned who cares? who cares enough? boiling hot black coffee spills over the lap of a colleague my memos begin as hate mail and end with love poems & sonnets then i am: clawing at the sodden earth clambering ever upwards soil crumbles like hash in my hands blue sky smiling down leaves whisper in the wind back to... exhaust fumes coating the pavement underfoot the black ash of traffic dribbles from a runny nose tourists eagerly snap photographs of a lorry wreck another table overturned with a look a hand passes through glass i am up now up and about up and around active but i am trying to end this like a schoolchild hurrying to fill the last pages of an exercise book i write with my cheek pressed hard against the desk concentrating on my hand as it writes the black ink zooms in and out of focus as words hit the page my fingers working independently from my mind, my thoughts the scales groan under the weight of my own expectations balance tips in your favour Blisters on my feet throb in a cartoon fashion i like to hit things with a stick imagining i am running amok in a supermarket tear-arsing down the isles laying all products to waste with an axe when was the last time you made something with your hands that you didn't eat or smoke? you stole what dim joy i had but i am left with sunlight so foreign to this room usually so quiet and dark and still |