Thursday, 6 September 2012

Mind (The Gap)

Another freewrite, just written now... I'll work on this in the morning. 

My mind doesn't work nights
Gets phased by off-licence strip lights
With thousand-watt bulbs
And unforgiving staff

And my mind doesn't laugh 
Not enough these days
Doesn't spend enough time in comedy clubs
Watching half-crazed clowns
Making fart jokes and anecdotes about TV shows
I should know but don't watch

My mind doesn't have a plot
To lose
Doesn't have feet to place
In others' shoes
Or a cubicle in which to change

In fact
My mind doesn't give a shit
It doesn't need to be changed
And powdered and wiped
Doesn't need to be freed
To run riot
Doesn't need to fight
Doesn't need to have an eye
For an eye's sake

Because my mind doesn't do nights
Doesn't like this shift
This shake
Of midnight makeshift landscapes
Threatening to make it slip
Make it lose its grip
Flip too much
Make quick misjudgements
That only fit the rhythm of jerky nightbuses
Snaking down avenues
It would never use come daylight

This time of night
My mind skirts bruised surfaces 
Gets dirt in its tyres
Gravel-punctured and hurt
And creates skid-marks
On paper

And, later, they'll call this a joy-ride



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