bichoose (bichoose) wrote,
bichoose
bichoose

Monday 3rd December 2007.

The rain has fallen for the past two days,so heavy,any remaining leaves have been dragged off withered branches screaming into the gutter,washed away in tides crimsoned with empty IRN-BRU cans,the bright blue/orange cans are all the colour left as dark angry clouds suck up all pigments in the wake of sunken dreams.
I had thought that this winter,that i would some how escape the usual winter drain,when word block,fusion together with the blue screen of death has made my scribbles ghost like,my hands feel dried crusted..too much Chardonnay perhaps..or to less.
Reason is doubt,not really helped when i turn on the wireless,as the ball by ball action whispers warm weather in old Ceylon as England battle on the cricket pitch,it is not the fact that we might loose,but the wordage of cold beers and sticky t-shirts,as in the back ground one can hear the " Barmy Army in full chant,as my tiny red van is cascaded in wet stuff dribbling in huge amounts that not even the biggest cock in the world could out do..maybe i am in a funny mood a withdrawn from the seasons i linger through half hearted,half kicked in the bucket of life.
Today i saw forced grown dwarf daffodils on sale for christmas i wonder what Wordsworth would have thought of such..maybe he would simply be aghast..and perhaps say fuck it...
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