MartianGrayMatterMeltdown

I can feel the thumbing, fingering,
mashing in my forehead,
no right deep inside
the bridge of my nose.
Pressure down those mushy button
TV wonder posted western
world times stories talking
troubles, death worries,
disaster daddies big
enough to fill your house
and bounce your head
was rested in peace.

I can't find the supper
table clinks and clanks.
Smell the potatoes,
chisel down the green beans,
cause the coffee stirs me
with cigarette clouds.
There ain't no dinner bell
inside me with my gut
tight and full of Webster's,
got the word to get out.
It needs outside,
not to be preaching,
just to have a say.

Maybe it's just me.
The patter won't go away.
Martian gray matter meltdown.
But I like the pace.
The places I do go
and stand in
place description at loss
until I get there, sometimes,
I get there.
Going like a hundred
ducks at a shot.
Times are, I won't.
So far is no good.
Can't get it across.
and what I want
is to be real.

� 2000 DPMcClellan