POETRY

"I had forgotten,

pumping my iron,

then falling asleep,

unwell and dirty,

the latticework

of reality

zooming  into  focus

from far to the close.

Shall I describe

how I feel?

Or how it appeared

after the first dose?

-After the first dose.

There I was, foggy,

making my way home,

my time compressed

by familiarity.

-And where was she?

She stood at the end

of a green country road

in distress, or remorse,

or just plain bored.

-Continue.

That's one version, of course.

The other a scaffold

of cold war metal work

at times sharp, coned

-Coned?

meeting at their points,

hundreds of thousands,

arranged as a wall,

on that same road.

They said I was ill,

the degreasing vats,

their fumes inducing dreams,

those cunning rats.

Like diviners,

they search her schemes

in my entrails."

The sparse room is

as you imagine. 

smoke rings try,

unsuccessfully,

to penetrate the walls.

jam09