Windy Bubbles

i have a phone book full of polite smiles and excuses

me? i’m ready to be a passing thought at a moment’s notice

i’m a victim, a willing participant in my own hedonistic compulsions

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i have a built in wardrobe full of don’t want to be seen

and a millions maps showing me where i don’t want to go

what to do? what to wear? i don’t even know when to care

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i have a sparse lounge room full of pervasive, invasive sounds

stale waves of vapid popularity splash from wall to wall

a repetition akin to a three quarter inch drill bit in the ear

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i have a black heart full of fading dreams eroded by time

(i hid the good ones a while back, i know i’ll never find them)

in their passing dust and ashes lays the weary i’ve suppressed

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i have a sense of my strengthening weakness’ milling around me

they have come to pick clean these lean hollow bones

feasting on a flaccid faux of flimsy misfortune

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i have a lung full of redundant shunned sensations

each rattling breath hoarsely heralds a beginning and an end

another trachea flavoured second of life granted

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i have a derailment schedule to keep me on track

a permit of sorts to pervert, prevent and perplex

hollow and tepid anti-elated and un-elevated

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i have a gelatinous membrane around several preselected epiphanies

pregnant with poignancy and pale prophecies perhaps,

lash laden lacy lauds or just more wind in bubbles?