deepundergroundpoetry.com

vitamin D boss

out comes the golden serpent - with hands of dripping copper and honey... sprinkling kosher salt wherever he goes; of course prior to: mr. aenemia and vamp. goes through a rotten stage of: scortched porky pink... it does take a day or two... for the suntan to even itself out

the joy from a well exerted body
with paid debt for a day's worth
of life...
  laying the foundation of a new shed...
tossing a tonne of gravel...
mixing cement like bread dough:
3:1 parts - sand:cement...
and some water...
        to the consistency of yeasty dough...
come the sunset and the skull's
moondance...
   the warming sensation of a newly
acquired suntan: above the elbow:
having rolled up the t-shirt "sleeves":
do i could get that:
mr. romania primark buff look...
rather than a farmer's suntan below
the elbows...
                 as for the mind...
currently pickling in some bourbon...
relaxing...
     not agitating any grand
exploration - come to think of it...
an honest's day of labour:
   of work that can be done -
    all work... beside those sadistic
arbeit macht frei labours...
or work for competition...
work in the fresh air...
      to plough the field...
         to build a house... to set
a foundation for a shed...
to wait for tomorrow... and put
the actual shed up...
                 if in england the house
is a castle:
why so few leave it for the labyrinth
of the garden?
claustophilic chickens...
hardly a castle: more
like a t.v.-zombie
                        chickenshack...
no point being "smart" about it...
there's enough grace in just
being grateful...
for honestly paying the debt for
a day's worth of life:
                to whatever god or devil;
well... i'm going to hardly
pay homage to the sun...
       that said... so much
                 for the heliocentric
"revolution"...
           what has changed?
i don't think much...
the world still goes on in its usual
geocentric theatre mandate...
          who needs to look for aliens
"elsewhere" in that copernican "n.e.w.s."
of aimless direction...
when the aliens are: thankfully!
tiny creepie-crawlies...
                       right here now:
scuttling along to find rotten wood,
shade and the confines of hades...
perhaps... sometime this week...
i'll pay homage to that route i walked
once before... beginning from...
lower bedfords rd (through bedfords park)
out on broxhill road...
then through B175... at pinewood road
(across from orange tree pub)...
through havering county park...
across the river Rom...
and into hainault forest county park...
popping out at A1112... and then either walking
back to collier row... or getting the bus
back...
    one day... this homage will
have to be paid.... but not tomorrow...
some other... sunny day;
so much for the over-inflated
               value of love and sex...
when manual labour in fresh air...
and taking... a pretty long fucking
walk will do... just about as much.
MatthewConrad
Written by MatthewConrad (bilingual-zoid)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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