I wrote two poems about budgies yesterday but somehow managed to accidentally delete them both. The poems were about how I’m not, repeat not, having a nervous breakdown. Although after losing both files I may rethink the whole not having a nervous breakdown thing…
There was a time when I wrote happy romantic little ditties. Like the one below, called From a Bunch.
In the meantime I’ll try and retrieve the poems (about the angry and obsessed budgies) from the bowels of the computer (both birds were called Franz) and also locate a poem I wrote on a napkin last week called Dead Flies. Psychiatrist’s couch here I come!
(Too much time listening to Swans, methinks)
Every little flower
and every myth
soon I will
tread among the weeds
and pick someone like you.
For a riveting novel about music and people’s secrets and relationships and drama…
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