Frozen, Fossilized Blood

My latest foray into the unknown territory
of a new salad at our favourite eatery has
disastrous results, ears singing and head
filled with concrete

Normally it is filled with cotton-wool which
is bad enough, but turning my head into a
fossilized concrete casting is just too much
a cold hardness

Leaves me colder and more meaningless
than is usually the case, I have lost the last
vestige of conscientiousness, now all only
see a psychopath in my place

This cold psychopath always messes up my
life, does not move the stones of my Sisyphus
task, simply sends all kinds of hostile beams
to all my friends

Even my brothers are scared of me when I am
like this, my colleagues don’t get to see me as
I hide in my chair, I must try to call back my
own spirit to my soul

I need to find a pill that will crack open my skull
to let oxygen melt the frozen, fossilized blood
and set me breathing again…

****************************************

No wonder I feel so bad, I must translate
a mental patient’s letter to the President
in which he demands to be given land in
which to erect his own holiday resort

Please, Mr President, remember to foot
the bill - the other day a lady requested
a second-hand vehicle while another
insisted on a special driver’s license

At your earliest convenience, Mr President, a
sarcastic character sang our leader’s praises
in terms so insincere, I nearly exploded, all to
offend in the nicest terms

I wish I could summarize these missives of
mischief and send a reply – let well alone and
be insane by yourself, why waste our time with
your delusions – just write a poem

Let it all come out in a Vogon effusion, blow the
brains of culture vultures, join the rest of the
scourges of Internet society…