Gone Bush

i went away for the weekend

drank a lot of beer

and smoked some weed

got too fucked up

to write last night

but boy

i felt the need

a host of random ideas

flitted through my frazzled mind

teasing as they do

knowing i was missing

the required levels

of sobriety

needed

to use my phone

there was one

that stood out

about a Bogong Moth named Barry

who thought that he was Elvis

he wore six little blue suede shoes

and a white rhinestone jumpsuit

he played a tiny little guitar

made by some beetles

that he knew from back in the day

he would perform at night

when the sun was out of sight

on a stage lit by fireflies

all angled just right

the only thing he had on his rider

was an old school sixty watt lamp

and some socks to chew on

after the show

he would bang at the windows relentlessly

until you turned the kitchen light off

and this is probably why

i shouldn't drink and smoke so much

and this may possibly be

why i do?

i don't mind

i get to stagger

and slur my words

the mornings

can be rough sometimes

just add coffee and paracetamol

until minor signs of improvement

begin to appear

and so furry of tongue

and foggy of mind

no longer needing

the things i can't find

flimsy single use resolutions

will be pondered

knowing they'll be cast aside

once the temple tension eases

and all that internal yelping ceases

i'm sitting in the sun now

it's just gone half past nine

everything is slightly groovy

everything is really fine

warming tin creaks as it wakes

birds are calling in the trees

and softly in the distance

a subtle building of the breeze

another magic autumn day

the only distractions now are mine

i could spend forever here

one day at a time