Subjective Grey Matter

Bartholemew expected better –
he told K so, in uncertain terms
(the voice wavered, of course,
doing the immaterial boogaloo).

K had taken the wheel,
was drifting around the road,
crossing lanes with abandon

“There’s nobody on the road!”
gleeful shouting, wide eyed, hair twisting
like opposed electrons, wandering along
opposite turns – “Look, Locke –
no hands!!”

Locke’d had enough. Tuned out, turned off.

K barely felt the crash, the spinning disc
of a flying hubcap
slicing into his sloping brow,
that wasn’t happening.

Again.

Advertisements

About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Creative Writing, Creativity, Idealism, Philosophy, Poem, poetry, sarcasm, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s