writing jam/rainy day - part 1

Making muddle of baking puddles, screaming curdles with bitter whey.
Climbing a ladder of I don't want to be here, crunching an apple, in the uncomfortable constant of whirligig roundabout change. Castles in the air, a ferris wheel with flapping legs; safety bar to hem you in, protect your head from falling out, out -- smack onto the tarred concrete, the bubbled cobbles, the unfriendly sharp-stoned flatspread, pierced deep with the mighty roots of steel.

---
I wrote this piece, and its continuation, on a heavily rainy day.

your selfishness; my pants

selfish
or just blind to the thought
that other people may exist,
beyond your own eyes and Freuded wants.

I left my pants, harmlessly hanging,
neatly creased, doing you no harm.
You want the bed, so you take my clothes
and dump them in a creasy crumple.

I understand you want the bed.
But what
did I ever do to you?
what did my clothes ever
do to you? that you drop them like that

and the added kick
of the fact that in the end,
you never did take the stupid bed
frustrates me just a little more.