Desk Town

My desk is so crowded.
Full of conversation and piles
of do-da and debris, things
needed or maybe not.

A lamp shines on my brushes,
hard pencils pin prick in an upright
kind of way. I don’t use those ones.
A ’50s doll, rabbit fur surrounds her.

Piles of tomato seeds and such
soldier on, labelling flagged up
can barely be seen in this mad
metropolis of Desk Town.

Flint like a phallic shark bird
tunnels beneath an opened book.
Two plants take in the sun when it’s due.
My pencil case lies wantonly open.

Box of tissues one by one
get pushed into my arm.
All those flippin’ feathers and long
containers, plastic bottles of rotting water.

I have feathers stuck into beach bum cork
like a parched and dying raft. A couple of wings,
relaxed from flying, lie beside
a once determined, now battered tube.

All these layers.
Further out from these shores there’s always
more mayhem. A white wall blocks off
any further discourse for now.