At a Loser's End

I am between holiday and work. I don't do well without structure... Addicts always cite boredom. Don't worry, I haven't taken to heroin or anything.


The Perils of Boredom

The benign enemy, insidious, creeping
transparent ivy, toxic as only nothingness
can be, can be and be and be some more
until, melting away, a cobra emerges, its
head reared, its name Danger.

Spongiform is this lump, absorbing of all
repressing quality, void of all imperfection,
or perfection, for that matter; spikeless,
toothless, but with every hour surrounding
more, soporific, anaesthetic, heavy.

As more cold liquid fills the arteries
its dullness convects towards the heart.
As the temperature rises, meandering,
at first until the chameleon, the serpent,
shape-changer whip-cracks, lashes.

Laying in wait, in slumbering potency,
the undergrowth takes shape, silent,
cowering with sinister smile, manipulative
as only neuro transmitting raiders can be;
hormone imbalancing, trojan, shocking.