I get the feeling...

I get the feeling

Something really bad

is going to happen

Someone’s showing up

With a strap-on

And blow mother earth

Inside out

I get the feeling that

Time is short

It’s too late for the

Whole jug of port

Too late to

Cry or pout

The stiff stench from the trench

Tells you something

Look around

Newscasters jumping

Dodging bullets

Earthquakes and rain

Hear it in the art

Beautiful is a cricket fart

The less sense the better

Just makes her

All the wetter

Hide behind any shame

To drain the pain

Hope comes in knowing

There’s a reason for the

Coming and going

Circles are circles

Because they’re circles

If you know what I mean

Our rational mind

Becomes intertwined

With nonsense if given

Half a chance

Floating into the

Unredeemed

Emotions

Crave pleasure

Seeking non-productive leisure

Productive in the eyes

Of the beholder- of course

Satisfaction is fleeting

As a Saturday night drunk’s greeting

All smiles, “…now what’s his name…

I know I’ve… seen him…

Before…?”

This is the ride we got

It’s up to us

To make a blot

In this grimy wreck

Handed to us

Thanks a lot

What can you do

With a bucket of poo?

Make poo jam

Serve it with spam

And re-define

Fine dining?

Or screw the whole lot

Determine the best spot

To witness the

Seasons’ biggest reaming…

‘round these parts, anyway.