Monotony Breaks

Watermelon II

Speaking of watermelons.
I had a first date with one and a girl at a park once.

Before meeting her I went to the supermarket and purchased a whole watermelon
and plastic knives and forks
to eat it with.

When I showed up with the watermelon she of course asked me where I got it and I of course told her that I grew it for her and that when we

eat it we will be forever
bonded by the watermelon sugar and that watermelon is our
new star sign.

It was alright for a while,
but it annoyed me that she slept until two every day.

I forget her name.
I remember her perfume.

Sometimes I smell it in the street on another woman.

Departure for the Fields of Forever

Birds keep flying into my window.
They aren’t across the concept of inside/outside.

They are inside, they think.
The glass is a mystery to them, like everything is a mystery to us.

I like to think I understand glass.
That it’s sand, somehow. That it’s hard, but not hard.

That it was hot when it was young.

Most of the time the birds do kill themselves. I bury them in a mass bird grave; although

I have seen a few get back up and hope that nobody saw them.

Winter in Prahran

It’s nearly Christmastime
and it’s a bit silly, all the fake snow on the ground outside your house,

which is just the innards of a
dead sofa if you want to be truthful—

dead sofa guts look like snow, we all guess.

You fucking idiot.

I bet you have a touch screen fridge that plays music and vomits ice-cubes

and a pug that can’t breathe.