Star date 7th October in the year of our Lord 2013
United Cb are taking the Mick
Bliss is such a random word
The cats seek milk to lick
Not seeing the flitty bird
Poke a wasps nest with a stick
He’ll have more whey than curd
Planks are looking mighty thick
UCB do you think I hadn’t heard
Box with an X change to a tick
Cats satisfied and purred
Que sera, not time for Nick
Pose at window, demurred
Once you scratch beneath the surface
Terrible odours can prevail
Perfumed patisserie cannot hide
Mould wreaking havoc below
There’s that itch you can’t locate
A spot just out of reach
The source of irritation
Never soothed by milky balm
A nuclear attack by an unknown nation
The delicate veil is torn asunder
A thousand years of screams
Rise up on a tide of hatred
Above the air once cool
Is swarming with bloody clouds
The sun will never shine again
Winter hash settles home to roost
We warned you not to scratch
Your bubble burst
Spewing putrid waste
No more claps or haps
Turmoil reigns in hell
Floodgates of fear
Uncertainty and dread
Opening deep and wide
Before. When she thought of her life before. She tried not to, many days she hadn’t even the faintest pull to the past but then there would come a day like today. A day when the past blew through the molecules of her body and she collapsed in on herself. An implosion is how she thought of it, at least with a nuclear attack she’d get a three minute warning before it was all over.
Across the street, Benjamin Wheeler watched, he saw the woman go down, an invisible source knocking her to the ground. This was his moment, his opportunity. Taking languid strides, not wanting anyone to notice, like the force that had floored her, he preferred to remain invisible, he crossed the road. His bag already half off his shoulder. He reached her and scooped her bags into his and was gone.
The palpitations subsided after what seemed like a hundred years or more. She turned over to sit, more dignified she thought. Although nothing about the whole incident was iced in dignity. The turmoil in her stomach and her breathing were returning to normal. She laughed out loud, what the freak was normal about her. And these ridiculous notions. Bah humbug, she began to gather herself, and panic began again. Where were the bags?
Benjamin had taken the scenic route back to his room, around the park, watching the dogs and their owners, the noisy kids and gossiping parents. Before entering he checked all his security measures, no one had been, or noticed, his room above. He was caught, wanting to rush at the bags but at the same time wishing to hold onto this anticipation for the longest time. Curiosity quickly won and he opened the first one. The handbag he would leave till last, the booty staying unknown.
When I lived in a prison, I dreamed of living in a home.
When I was released into a house, I dreamed of living in a home
When I sat in this house, I felt imprisoned by the stuff
When I was released from the past it became a living home.
Home can be a cardboard box or a penthouse in the sky
Home can be a nest in a tree or the coral of the sea
Home is not about bricks and mortar
Home is alignment, home is for the free
It was never an innocent escapade, guilt was written all over it. He could not justify or rationalize his actions although full of bluster he tried. There was always an agenda with him, sometimes out in the open but most often secret and undisturbed by the gentle prodding of his victims.
From the time he could do math, he was buying and selling, summertime lemonade, wintertime snow shoveling, Spring and Autumn were for leaves and weeds. Later he graduated to lawns, spending entire summers keeping the grass of Honeycomb Heights as short as a navy flat top. Always, looking for the angle he persuaded money from wallets and purses so the owners thought he was doing them a favour by taking it. Assignations were viewed and then exploited, Honeycomb had its fair share of wandering eyes and hands.