white coats weighting

in a sound proof booth with eskimo head phones listening for high frequency beep biiip biiiiyp

press a little red button every time. and then the laser and the bop bop knee hammer.

height and weight. weight. weight. weight. weighting.

cover one eye and an H is an N, an N an H...oh dear.

touch toes, breathe deep, open shut them, give a little clap. open shut them, open shut them. put them in your happy
thoughts.

i wonder if my weeeeeee was still warm when i gave it to the nurse?

tick box, x box. 1-2 cigarettes per day? average? head injury? allergies? exposure to power tools?

the most important thing here is a clipboard. the laughter and joy typical grafitti evokes in me! diagrams of cock and balls, tash waz 'ere 98, the blonde nurse is hot - i'd shag her!, peace signs and traced lines, etched dents and something unusual...a diagram of a box, in three dee like a coffin without a lid.

black tracks

all i do is bite nails, sculpt blu-tack, suckle tea and agonise over which earrings to wear today/tomorrow/yesterday/tonight. i snap split ends and drill gorges and tunnels in my cauliflour head:




watching a species live by and by the clocks and ties and i spy...though the tram window. with disorientating eyes something starting with why.

??
??

are you wearing an ego today?
will you play coights with that doughnut?
how will that nourish you...that screen...how will it?
where are you going to stick that knitting needle?
where will you flick that twitch?
stitches will unravel...coats, hats, gloves.

doves die and my spying eye is reluctant to roll, to shutter

to cry.

insert apex here

and it will be easter. a time to jam handfuls of little chocolate ovals down my throat, before smoothing and flattening the foil wrapper. it's an important part in the eating of the egg. ironing creases of an aluminum scrap with ones finger tips is an art. oh, the shimmer, the glint of chocolate's apparel. silver style at it's best.

and with easter comes this glorious gorge of milky, sugary clumps. and with easter comes the commemoration stabbing myself in the wrist with a snapped wine glass stem...

polish, polish polish. this cafe is so busy we are making lists. waiting lists, waiting lists, complaint lists. waiting lists. polish polish. the cloth works and twirls and de-smudges these wine vessles. i must work with haste. nimble fingers, rushing mind, scraping chair legs, strong. soy. flat. de. caf. whites. wine in throats. food in teeth. people in impatient spirits. and snap. the solid glass stem snaps and delves into my wrist.
in.
d
e
e
p.
stab.
out.
hole.
blood.
and it happens so fast, i don't feel anything at all. a crisp, clean puncture is remarkably, a pain free ordeal. until i see the ruby lagoon on the cafe kitchen floor. it's swelling and flowing into channels between the tiles. so i grab my wrist. curling my fingers around, covering the flesh gully. claret sqeezes between my fingers. drips down. down my arm. avenues of crimson syrup. drizzle. splash! trickle. splash.

and my face is chalk. my knees quiver...