I'm not with it today. I think it's the remnants of a long week. The entrails of effort, that arrive on the scene all mushy brained and lethargic. I worked another function this weekend. And now, something that was once a fresh break from the bar and restaurant work I do back at the Alhambra, becomes a part of the pattern of everyday working life. It is time to move onwards and upwards. The poem I'm posting for today reflects my mood. I wrote it on a bus about a week ago. It's unfinished but I don't plan to finish it soon, so here it is.
Headache
It's not that I have the mind for
The arrow that punctures my frontal lobe
That electric gush of brain
And fist clenched teeth and pain.
Or prefer to go back, forth, back,
in a dragons den
With no light bulbs
No bright ideas but a diluted concoction
Fizzing away for a pulp bi-product.
What would otherwise be:
"Mmm. Pillow."
Implodes
And word thought word image thought word
word orbits
your black black hole
Into which you cannot sink.
No comments:
Post a Comment