with four attacking claws rolling on one wheel towards me to prick
my feet & scratch my legs ‘til I bleed; my back support is strapped
to my waist & I’m sitting down, my computer screen high, keeping
neck-vertebrae safe - feet burning from standing in the morning, &
scrubbing in the bath to change my barefoot Achilles heels into the
delicate pink feet seen in advertisements
Work on Boegoeberg reminds of sounds like Kelkiewyn, Kokkewiet,
Bokmakierie & Piet-My-Vrou; a complainant’s endless list of injuries
suggests he protests too much - how can whole districts suddenly
become predators & attack like a pack of wolves in central Siberia -
what did this whining guy do to arouse a large rural group’s ire such
they prevented him enjoying his right as a human being to water all
the time. I always suspect provocation when one person claims to
Be an innocent victim, decrying a whole group of evildoers; I wrestle
his letter to the ground, reading between the lines, if NOBODY is on
this man’s side he has alienated everyone; let’s relay tragic words of
this tortured soul to sing his litany of self-justified accusation against
the people sharing Planet Earth with him - let me finish this text and
construct a production sheet to inform micro-managed Government
of my every breath which is the Politicians’ way to count pennies as
Billions are unaccounted; I fought Portuguese terms to the ground
& discovered Spanish is a big train smash even though my alternate
selves came through from the stars and chipped in while they let me
live in this universe as a happy crocodile who went to lunch crooning
“The Hills Are Alive” to herself - practically feeling the perfect Mary
Poppins’ sparks - whirling around London’s Chimneys; a Crocodile
Princess is in the sky with her, too happy to stay on the ground…
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