The Buzz

He said:

"You were buzzing last night.

I could feel you vibrating."

I knew what he was talking about.

The atoms of my body had been thrust,

Through thousands of kilometres,

At a hundred kilometres an hour,

Driving.

The tyres of my car dragged against the bitumen,

Their vibration travelled through my seat,

Into spine and the marrow of each of my bones.

The cochlea of my ears endured the hours of banshee screaming,

Of air scraping against the cars exterior,

As high pitched as a fluorescent light.

Drone, drone, drone,

Ever rhythmic, the motor's base,

Coming into my feet on the floor,

And my hands on the steering wheel.

I had been a human tuning fork.

And now free from vehicular prison,

I rang out.

Marking their Territory

Why is it when they know that they will leave,

They claim they will stay?

They claim that will not join their long line of predecessors,

Who could not live up to the,

Unachievable, utopian hippy dream.

"We are coming back,

This is just until......

We are a part of this community."

Yeh sure.

And then before they go,

They have to leave some testament,

To their temporary habitation,

Of this place.

This time it is a mural on the local hall.

Last time,

It was artistic signs along,

An unused and unmaintained walking track.

Their names and those of their children,

Etched in acrylic paint.

Marking their territory,

Just as a wombat,

Neatly defecates on the tallest stone.

Losing Connection.

It is only when either of us lose sight of the other.

The bond is broken,

For just a moment....

 

Together,

And we are in the throws of a sensory maelstrom of touch.

But I am full to over flowing.

And I lose sight of you.

 I am alone.

And that is when the demons,

Of overstimulation leak out,

Through these tiny cracks.

I re visit the sensory conglomeration,

That is my overstimulated life,

Breakdown,

And cry.

The Tough Nut

"I go to bed when I want,

Two thirty sometimes.

I can watch whatever telly or DVDs I want,

Mum and Dad don't fuck'n care.

Yeh I just do what I like.

So you can't make me..."

He is short and stocky.

Rosy round cheeks match,

His little round belly.

He looks tough,

But his 'face' is lost,

So easily.

Don't challenge him, he'll break.

He is a grimy cherub,

With a foul mouth.

Serendipidy

It was only yesterday we were talking about them,

Our mentors.

Two delightful lady lesbians,

Who after lives of challenge,

Found each other.

They have life 'sussed'.

Their joy creates boundless energy,

And huge potential to give.

Yes we were talking about them.

Planning when we could all get together,

Be re inspired.

And then as fate would have it,

In the most unexpected of places,

Just on a whim,

They were there,

Where I was,

Having just arrived.

We embraced. 

I said,

" You know we were just talking about you two,

Only yesterday, 

And here you are."

Serendipity.

 

Blowies

The light is attracting them.
They buzz and splutter in a chorus,
About my head.
They bounce of the darkened ceiling.
Morris left the door open all afternoon.
They were attracted by the kitchen smells,
Of fresh bread baking,
And Bowen's scones.
I had to rescue the cream before it was blown.
I should not complain too much.
They are a harbinger of the warm pleasant days to come.
They are blowies.

Billie-Grace Car Washing Service.

Her big blue eyes, that are mine,
Look at me through the windscreen.
On the bonnet, her five year old hands are rubbing at the glass.
She has a damp nappy, that was once hers.
I feign sleep so I can observe her without further engagement.
She is busy,
Making small smearing circles.
Her hard work is not effective,
Yet she persists.
Her tongue pushes about her mouth in the same circles.
She is concentrating hard.
As she returns the washcloth to the bucket.
I watch her lips form the shape of a song.
She is singing while she works.