False Impresssion

It all means nothing if I can get this job.

The past erased and moved aside like

And I can stroll in every day like I own it.

And distant memories, accumulated wrappings of

names on labels packed lunches and ink blot and

 

blisters from broom handles burst

sending pus in my eyes in my hair.

Still the stare asking ‘are you there?’

or somewhere else suspended on hooks

maybe or gutted and skinned alive.

If I get this job nothing will change.

If I get this job doing it my way.

What will I do?

Bigshot flew.

And left Robin to fend while Thrush

wept and dreamt of his return.

Friends. People who are not your enemy.

People to do more than say hi to! To work with

side by side. Oh No!  Queen bee is looking for me

I have eggs to fertilise! All she wants is my seed!

Oh away with you queen! Find yourself a new drone!

Go sit on your throne and buzz off!

I have work to do with my friends and colleauges

we have plans too and ideas and targets

And an audience to satisfy.

Little did I know then that art could

be a living, a way out of poverty or

that words joined up together in strings

did not require inclusion in some pre-ordained canon

for them to be heard or even to matter.

If I had I would have paid more attention

to the lessons.

What do you call it when everything you love

is laid out before you? I think its called

Heaven but don’t you have to die to get there?

Well I have died in company more than once

more times than i like to remember in fact.

Or os this just misplaced nirvana or cocunut

hair?What will I do when i get there?

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