You cannot practise dying, though we want to do it well
We don’t want to appear foolish when we might be in hell
We can practise smiling and opening the door
Unless like me you’re crippled and you’re feeling very low
You can practise music, you can practise Art
You can practise hiding in the burrows of the heart
Then you get to go on stage and do it all for real
Dying ain’t for dummies but allow yourself to feel
You can practise for your wedding, your baptism and your fall
In the hall of mirrors where God lives off the wall
You can practise speaking, you can do it many ways
Then you must stop practising, and say the words today
In the little spaces in between the sounds
Let yourself be emptied, you are on the Holy Ground
Day: February 14, 2020
The mental hospital
Words
Words rise up like geese at dawn
When with pale sun new day is born
The words approach and dance in line
The choice of words is mine
Words spelled here by sense and sound
In clause and sentence weave around.
Which tempting words shall I now use
And which shall I refuse?
The fire lights up inside my heart
So now my writing hand can start
“This is the way I spend my day.
With words I sing and play!