after all

This week
been sitting sadhu
in a cave watching
my friend, the butterfly,
fly away.
It’s been fun
listening to 96FM
kind favour
of the fucken brickies next door.
They swear.
Indulged in a bit of cyber flagellation -
see me privately for further details.
Read “One From None”
bought at the Save the Children’s Fund
annual second hand book sale.
$1 on half price day.
Bargain Betty!
Hand written inscription on the front inside cover:
TO JIM
HOPE YOU ENJOY
IT
FREAK!
News was:
Ms Gilllard saved the day.
Tony wants to have a go.
Ted went to explain to Mary Jo.
The crops are gonna fail
if rain don’t come
we’ll all be rooned.
The mighty game
received another body blow
and Ben came home.
In the trenches on the emotional front,
I cried.
My friend the deconstructed post modernist said:
“You cry when you see the Truth.”

That’s it really.
oh and I wrote a poem…….

what makes me so
fucken unlucky
in fucken life
in fucken love
jesus i hate it
when the pathetics hit
the problem is
the problem is
the problem is
i have been bobbing up and down in the same spot not swimming not drowning
for fuck i dont know how long
fucken years
making
the same
the same
the same
fucken mistakes
saying the same words
over and over afuckengen
the psychobabble
is right
its a pattern
but the pattern has to hit me in the face
with a dead fish
fifteen fucken times before I get it
fucken non stop slow learner
at least the train tracks have lost their gleam
that route no longer appeals
no cunt notices isolation
so that’s a waste of fucken lonely time
too old to do a da levy
now everyone is poncing around being artists and poets and fucken anarchists
filling each others pockets with piss
out-quoting each fucken other
armed with their fucken non stop genius
i hope the revolution comes soon
i hope they string me up first
maybe i could be fucken lucky
after all