Evil. Infinite Evil.

 

Evil. Infinite Evil.

 

Yesterday, hours flew past.

I was back on the bus before I got off –

there were pangs, you know?

 

Like an egg, sunny side up

or flipped over-easy - greasy -

either the yolk sings

or it leaves you queasy

 

while the gnawing rats of depression

chow down on your innards;

they are never far away,

thickening their nests inside me.

 

Anyway, last night's a thief,

I knocked back the beers of relief,

no more than one or two,

and waited on sweet sleep

and her promised velvet lands –

to fly somewhere softer.

 

Yet still, those black ponds

of messages wait.

something banal, trivial, of no use

yet twisting into a barbed sisal noose –

at which I might howl disbelief.

 

What they contain is nothing less

than bureaucratic zero-interest

yet they task me, they rate me,

and just when I’m pulling free,

drifting into green Sargasso Seas,

I am dragged back, 

castaway and beached.

 

Oh yes, there was apology;

the sender rescinds and beseeches,

her hollow hull suffered breeches,

for I too have messages in me:

and she knows about payloads -

call it a latent capacity

for evil, infinite evil.

 

So, I suppose I could’ve referenced

‘Apocalypse, Now’,

or Joseph Conrad’s colossal

trek into dark iniquity –

but I feel I understand the source

feeling aggrieved; 

manipulated, forsaken, undone -

so, instead, reach out to 

the Keeper of Traken.