Boiling the Furniture

Sometimes there’s a sense that something’s not right.

A certain futility parked inside a growling sofa or recliner.

I’m not talking bedbugs.

Or am I?

Returning to the previous point, yes.

Inspired by a paving over of whatnot. All the whatnots really.

Can’t say there’s a point to it. Or can I?

Feel that sun just gambol in the brain. Raindrops tambour on the roof. The windows. All the cars in heaven.

There’s so much frustration in the world, sometimes, it’s hard to read a word.

There’s so much in the world, sometimes, it’s hard to think of writing.

Pishposh, the yeti’s in the marmalada. Can it be? Where else would this dancing monsoon come from? Who else would find the time?

Yes. Yeti yeti yeti.

“Bigfoot.”

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