i have a bushy tail

i was sitting down at my desk. trying to study.

i checked my phone. probably 10 times.

i saw how messy my bed looked. maybe i should clean it.

no. can’t be bothered.

i see my guitar leaning tiredly against the window. 

maybe i should practise. wouldn’t want to get rusty. 

my pen lies on the desk. open, waiting, neglected.

Squirrel brain.

i try to get to my guitar but i suddenly find

that i can climb it like a building.

suddenly i’m as small as i always felt. 

suddenly i can fit into the grey crevices of my mind

and see that they really are

intersections on a dodgy highway

ceaselessly witnessing

drunk drivers swerving and

people cussing and dying and

generally miserable under the

tyrannical sun. 

all of my clothes are too big for me. this should be my greatest victory.

but i feel just as restless as ever so

i climb out the window

tip toeing on the telephone pole wire

like a tight rope dancer putting on a show and 

i wonder if my friends can see me.

i wonder if they ever really do.

but i can’t be bothered to worry about that now;

just spotted an acorn. Lunch time.