RENAISSANCE MAN

fireseed alone at a nonnymouse desk in a quiet office
working on n on after hours
pondering the news
the others left a while ago
the computers and electronic devices buzz around him
hum hum hum
electromagnetic fields enmesh and entangle
tiny invisible electrons n photons n whatnotrons
bombard each other
phut phut phut
they rebound harmlessly off fireseed's brown corduroy jacket
(hopefully)
or perhaps they play havoc with his internal organs
even as he typos
on the other side of the windowpane
the rush-hour crush travels home to bed
disembodied pairs of headlights
slicing through the drizzly darkness
the tiny goldcrest that buzzed around in the fir tree
now long gone
i know i've written it before
nothing ever stands still
life throws ya a curveball and you take a swing
maybe you hit, maybe you miss
one door opens and another slams shut
suddenly a new door bursts open
the right time and the right place coincide
or spectacularly fail to connect
fireseed called into director's office
fireseed told he not wanted any more after christmas
two days a week aint sufficient commitment
well so much for that job sharing malarkey
but bring it on i say!
fireseed already art director at echo centre
and producer
and screenwriter
and marketing man
(ok i claim a co-credit)
fireseed churning out the ditties as if his life depended on it
(perhaps it does)
now maybe it's time ya fave blogger branched out into something else
acting?
life modelling?
i hear male escorts are doing a roaring trade these daze
i mount my steed and head out into the fray...

ps: don't ya bother yourself with that other blog any more
what's the stupid thing called again?
oh yeah
that 'fart of living' nonsense
nah
keep your nose to the ground
stay where it's really at
'the all seeing i' rules!
okay?
okay