Robert W Monk




The Paperboy Whose Mind and Paper Round Expanded

Lying in bed
Hands like fuck cats/rats
Painting tiny squares on my brand new radio/alarm clock
With Tippex
Very defined, very detailed
The Devil’s in the detail.

I got the acid from a 40 year old crusty named Malcolm
Whose catchphrase was: “I’ve been on the edge, man”
3 hours in, 5 hours to go
3 hours in, 5 hours to go
Oh shit, I’ve got a paper round to do.

No. 18’s Alsatian dog really, really doesn’t dig The Guardian’s new colour supplement
And the girl at No. 22 laughed at my trainers just last week.
Meanwhile the sky has opened up
And a cartoon God is looking down on me and pissing on me
But it’s just rain, isn’t it? Isn’t it just rain?
And this road is going on for miles and miles
I must be in Exeter by now… But why Exeter?
Why not Mars? Or Mogadon? Or Burkino Faso?
Here comes another dog What’s his problem? Why are they always so pissed off?
Don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about it.
And the sound in my ears Is a constant crying and wailing of cattle
With a drum machine and a 303 chipping in at inopportune moments.
Frozen Still

And then I’m at the kitchen table
And my mouth feels like I bit The head off a biro
Orange juice works? Orange juice? Orange juice?
And my Mum turns into a walking, talking Marshmallow Tree
And I’m on the bus to school for Double Maths and Philosophy
It never rains but it pours
These twisted knots of off-colour
Smiling gunk all over My head.
All over My Head
All over




Robert W Monk is a poet and writer trying to make some sense of the multiverse. His words and poems have appeared on various sites and blogs and in zines. He has also been known to perform live on occasion.

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