My poem today was written in one of the two positions in which I do my best work (the other one being such that it would make writing well-nigh impossible.). I was outside, in the sun, with a coffee in front of me, at my favourite cafe. My usual was delivered with some special “latte art” on it: the staff’s nick-name for me, written on the top. This made me feel ridiculously special, as I scrounged through my notebook and found another fragment for up-cycling.
And, as you will see, my love of coffee has quite a bit to do with this poem!
STREAM OF SEMI-CONSCIOUSNESS
Blue stilettos, click, click on the pavement
Echoing the tick-tock of the clock
Which spins round and round,
Like the old music-box,
With pretty pink satin,
And a ballerina, dressed
In a skirt just like my prom gown,
Which I wore the first time I heard
“White Room”. Oh the black curtains.
Those blacks at the back of the stage,
During the production of “Hamlet”
So stark and dreary,
Like my life at times.
Perhaps I should travel?
Tahiti looks nice…
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK…
I still can’t get to sleep….