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Array
(
[sid] => 176426
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Mondays don't mean anything.
[time] => 2013-07-02 15:22:59
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Yanked from a lustful slumber and hurled into being. Under dawns command the suns sneaked up and flushed my curtains with it's light without any permission, an infringement clearly. My minds screaming obsenities as blue cigarette smoke swirls around my fingers and Ive got toast crumbs and butter all down my dressing-gown. Monday has reclaimed my freedom it's seized the town, it's women, it's banter, it's beer pumps, and hurled my sorry skinny ass into a train vestibule, to observe I suppose the carriages egg- shelled sensitivity being pained by delays, drizzle and small talk. Monday has seized the moment captured the times, drained my courage, dispersed my purpose, drowned my reason. The blossoms on the willow trees have withered, and shrunk with fright. Yet I bet all the ticket inspectors, parking attendents and headmasters are taking delight in proceedings, ready and poised to pounce on any mis-hap. So too Mondays brings with it the collapse of justice and the re-enactment of sods law. Now for the head on collisions and the breasts drenched in coffee, the slap of soles galloping downhill in the direction of closing doors. Me I'm trudging away from another unavailable cash machine, to the stannic sounds of discarded coins marvelling at how suddenly static a fingerless gloved poacher becomes when the scent of someones bacon blows by Chist, we're all taking a slash in mondays cruel wind. Their eyes are everywhere, scratched blotched, convulsing, saturated with age and as sallow as tea stains. An obscure dread scuttles all over my body, whenever I meet them on days like this. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 90 [topic] => 21 [informant] => flavellm [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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