It’s Not What You Think

This pickled flight of fancy,
A loop of nauseous doubt,
The blood rush spinning
Then abruptly ending
In seconds.

I face the never
With a grimace
And dredge up
Weeping snapshots,

All the while
Picturing my future in neon,
Grasping at slithers
Of sunshine
Through curtains.

I tackle your echo
With a bowl and a spoon,
I cash in food coupons
And fake smile at tourists,

All the while
Heeding the warnings,
The boom of slippered feet
And the wild night time moans

That could cover a cavern,
Wrestle it westwards
To watch the sun sink
And then sit on the brink of disaster.

It’s simple,
Sometimes dusty thoughts
Lead us slowly down alleys,
No meanings to speak of,

Just shadows and shapes,
The smell of old smoke,
Piss weeds and felines,
Urban excuses,
Barbed wire knotted,

And as we lie and retire
Another minor apocalypse
Burps out in b minor,

It bubbles,
It worries,
It pops
And it flurries,

These sinkings
Are quite partial to clowns.

Poetry.net

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8 Responses to “It’s Not What You Think”

  1. Wonderful. I really enjoyed this read, quite a bit.
    Thank you

  2. huh.
    hmmm
    thats odd
    still consistantly good in style.

  3. Excellent blog, I like everything about it.

  4. dunstancarter Says:

    A big thanks to all three of you! 🙂

  5. A skillful poem expresing differently the litany of fears we all face. Then… ‘These sinkings
    Are quite partial to clowns’
    When all is said and done, we turn to clowns for distraction but oh, the poor clown. Where does he turn?

  6. Fresh, bristling images with a hint of irreverent shock…especially in “Another minor apocalypse
    Burps out in b minor…”
    Beautiful!

  7. dunstancarter Says:

    Cheers Gemma

  8. Dennis Carter Says:

    These lines are top drawer, Dunny.
    Grasping at slithers
    Of sunshine
    Through curtains.

    So is Burping in B minor. True wit (grit)

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