Sorted

Cutting off my fingers just in case I change my mind was a thought that came to mind,

I guess I must have believed that writing made me some kind of poet

but as I can’t remember the poetic terminology for that particular thought

I must conclude that I am just one of the hordes, one of the frauds.

What good are my words wrapped up or hidden, as I prefer them to be, when

the bloody spell check conspires to give my voice an American accent.

I realise that realize should be realise but am too apathetic to confront this

new order colonial interdiction.

While we are on the subject of colonial, I have been eating a lot of fruit of late

and have to mention that whilst the kiwi fruit is delicious it has a revengeful streak

that can render one with an extremely sore arse after it has liquefied all

that had the audaciousness to hang around in the same cavity awaiting an ejection.

I tried to give up ciggies also; thought I’d wait a while, before making that resolution

as new year does seem to get a little crowded and many fail in the crush to succeed

in the annual resolution scramble.

I tried using patches, as they seemed to take away the cravings on my last attempt

though this time left me in a mass of colour, (yes bloody colour…with a U

if you don’t mind…thank you,) in a semi-conscious, hallucinatory state.

So there I was feeling sorry for myself when the phone rang but unfortunately

my metaphor…oh yes that was the word I was looking for earlier wasn’t it…

anyway my metaphor turned out not to be so after all, as I looked down and realized

(it’s bloody realised for goodness sake) to my horror that my fingers were now detached

from my hands and they were bloodying up the keyboard as they continued to type out

what you are now reading.

It would seem that my fingers have more resilience than I.

Still;

they seem to be making a better job of writing unaided so I will leave them to it for now,

or perhaps I just might eat them instead.

Sorted!