one borrowed afternoon
i stumbled out
to find the watercolour world
had changed to acrylic
my imagination suddenly ran dry
terrified of the white paper/red tape scenery
i couldnt see anyway out
searched around but couldnt find it
the key i needed
i was landlocked shellshocked
surrounded by the nothing
stopping at nothing
nothing doing
pain returns
a weakness at the heart of everything
time had not waited for me
nor had 1988 come back
the strings are artificial
the light stabs my bad eye
the rainfalls in buckets
everywhere i turn
i weave groggily down the street
26 dollars in my hand
feeble lemon yellow sun cracks thru the gloom
a white haze surrounding the clouds fuzzy edges
a morbid piano lesson drifts from a house
some hopeless banger murdering mozart
i take in all the details
my mansuit is ripped and torn
and everything comes in
sound and light overpowers me
i have no space left
nowhere to put this glare and this whisper
windows like mirrors reflect themselves
blocks of flats light up with silver squares
the palm trees flop in the listless scene
the conversations go on in the corners
the music creeps under the doors from its dark place
its all overexposed and flaring into white and black
i see spots that look like moths swooping in on me from the sides
i always play my cards badly even tho i have good hands
good hands but bad fingers says the piano teacher
i hear myself breathing on tape
i hear a voice neither instrument or human
i hear the absent drummer weep
the sound leaks away
the rainbow seems to collapse
the colours that make it up
swirl into a crimson brown
and drown in the clouds
a pine tree says finally !
as it looks at the ominous sky
by now i’m rolling along the road
gliding on all four intentions
and guided by internal friction
i steer by the stars homes
i press my nose up to russell crowes hedge
i pet sydney melbas hyaena
i catch a distant ocean glimpse
i go in the drawer to win a million
i fix up my own future
i postpone my death by a few more songs
i sell off ideas i aint even had yet
i walk down in the museum gardens
where its sodden
theres my main man
mr big
the dealer of destiny
the pusher of puissance
the purveyor of sensual pleasure
the powerful one
steve?
he puts out his hand
as i shake it
a little spur goes into my palm
we shake hands for a minute
when he releases me
i stagger like a workload
i stumble like a bum
i’m all over the place at once on my knees
feel better now steve? says the mainman
i hand over my twenty six euros
he grins and gives me another small jolt
a free sample of next weeks …he says
as some enchanted evening is dragged through my head
i reach for it to savour its cosiness
but its gone…
uh uh says the mainman shaking his head
and smiling sadly
gotta wait till next week
i get the airbus home
i get off at the wrong stop
lemuria terminus says the sign
that cant be right says a voice in my ear
youve gone too far says another voice
youve done it this time…
a car pulls up
excuse me…..an old womans voice
excuse me …can you tell me where blah blah street is..?
i wade over to the car
what?
can you tell me where blah blah street is?
i look at the old duck blankly
yeah lady….this is it….youre driving in it
without saying a thanky dee
the old duck cruises off in her chrysler ghost
how fuckin’ rude…says one of them voices at my ear
then it all unravels
un ravel
meaninglessness impinges
nausea just like olde satre in mount martyr
no soundtrack
no credits
no audience
no takings
the plot may get rehashed
re hashed
re hashed for another couch potentate
or whatever
sweep up the mess
turn off the lights
take the keys back
and wait for next may