a wet old sunday leaves me alone on my day off, contemplating the navels and other bits of a girl called anna marie, she lives in arizona a place i do love, she's really beautiful to. those legs go all the way to heaven, yes they really do!
after a quick chat, many internet problems to cross, i get stuck into some domestics. polishing wooden floors until they are so slippery and shinny i keep falling over. it's like an old black and white movie, i'm poking my body with the mop, slipping and sliding, its only a matter of time before something hazardous occurs and i'm out for the count.
i manage to finish cleaning the floors but then i look at the kitchen, cluttered and messy and i shove everything away wondering what life would be if i were married. i guess that all depends don't it?
a lot of people i know are married and miserable, men and women. some seem to be fine but you don't really know what goes on in private. one mans dream is another's nightmare.
i manage to do almost everything on my own, it's bloody hard work and there's no time left at the end but i somehow plod through. this season is plodding season, there is no cash left, there is only debt and work.
the debt will hang around for a while, i just have to tighten my belt, chop wood carry water. 
rain comes, it's almost welcome, i guess some farmers need it more than myself, some sunday's are better than others, this is just a dull sunday, indifferent lean and penetratingly mundane. i look like i'm working but really i'm not, just moving one pile and making another. 
something blows in the wind, leaves shake and shimmer, shapes take form and my imagination stretches the fiction. when you stare at the tree long enough it stares back at you. or was that an abyss? 
it's hard to tell one from the other, it's almost unreasonable to ask.