Its My Birthday. Maybe the one day a year you can get away with being a chronic bludger. I wouldnt say my bludging has been "Chronic" or "the Chron". I have been working but I made a little drawing in between jobs. Now in the nature of said "Chroning" I will write a poem about this paint drawing:- Still life.
Life isn't still.
there are noises and movements afoot.
even at the height of stillness,
my blood crashes through my tubes;
like reckless teens on jumping beans.
There is friction in the air and invisible tension.
Radio waves and Phone calls
travel through my cells as I write: and as you read.
I will enjoy the quiet and take peace in the notion
that stillness is violent.
Life is a thrill.
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