CLIMb to the mAX

Suppose It's My Fault For Giving My Wounds Brains...
& My Heart; Strings.  ~Kirsty Heggie

                                                                                                               
This is My Mountain.
      ;Sun trap,  Day dream, Bowl of green veg, with forks


                ing          ing              ing 
              d            d                d
          u              u                u
        r                r                r
      t                t                t
    r                r                r
  e              e              e
p              p                p

Pouring out...
my  P  r  a  n  a .
Oh!
the
slime
of
my
porridge
brain
and my oatcake heart
These days no strawberry tart.

Pick
the grapes from my veins
& Roll
            Them
            over your
                          tongue;
my precious marbles
Mothers instructions:never loose them!!
But mum - they were never ever mine to keep,
          Only she will weep....

The Little Velvet Bag where I kept my teeth
I'd twisted out to make way for Vampire fangs.
...& the Fairies in the night; with sparkling grins and Prada© slippers
; stern little tax collector-ettes
Somewhere up in la-la-land placing bets
That cost daddy a small fortune.

I looked upward at this LegoLand™ and...
----
Sister intervened! with her decapitated Barbie Dolls©
Barbie... wearing her infidelity on her neck; scarlet letters:
Compliments from Action Man© - but Action was more interesting
Than Ken with his knowledge of hairstyles and fashion foibles.
Fumbling with my bottom lip - where is my audacity now?
Shall I tip-toe, or fall
                                  T
                                                U
                                                              M
                                                              B
                                                                L
                                                                      I
                                                                              N
                                                                            G

to the bottom of this mighty hill.
I have a name for every blade of grass; sheep I counted…
Maybe it's the colours and shapes behind my lids
Or the internal, interweaving soliloquy that's made me
Passive…? And almost happy.
BAAAAAAAA BAAAAAAAA BAHAHAHA.

Maybe I'm a witch today,
The herbal midnight snack b-b-b-bubbling lethargic cynicism
And light-hearted fear.
But ‘Madame’, she squints and says me to me
The book tricked you, winked at your naivete
Who says you "can't kid a kidder"?
        Kicking K
        fell asleep
        in dismay
        on a grey,
        L-shaped couch
        After a few too many
        With The madman's staff in her hand and said:

ha! baby you got me.

Nothing is making sense now, everything does not make sense said the King of Nonsense-Kind

& we... dumb and pure,                 
       


                                                    applauded hysterically.












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