The axe attacks

The heart is struck a blow, can we live on?
The pain, the blood, the wound can’t be undone
Lying in the rocks, so grey, so doomed
Death is waiting in the sitting room

Imperceptibly our minds are changed
The contents we examine, rearrange
No energy for living and new games
Like a worn out puma,limping, lame

The animal, our being, our poor flesh
Wishes for relief or even death
Yet as the sun burns through the maple leaves
Who can tell what else we may perceive?

Life and death, those twins walk on white cliffs
I stumbled once,I froze,I turned from death.
Then I found the wild rose and its thorns
The pain of grasping love, the treasure shown

The future is yet fiction,I’ll be damned.
Come to me and hold my cold, thin hand

And my mind

When I came in from my flu jab,
I put my red zipped bag onto a cardboard box
Which is full of kitchen towels and de facto is a table
I put the lights on
I put the kettle on
I took my coat off
I took my little phone bag off
I changed my spectacles
And my mind

So now I am writing it down
I write my name and “Diary Private
Then another is “Diary Public” but so not a convenience
I there, I have a lover and another lover
Five divorced partners
And the names of my fantasy cats
Whom I have never seen
I make some tea
I pass no water without testing it
With my left foot
I look out of the window
See the light of the sun

I sit down with the Radio Times
The tea
My dreams
My conscience
My unconscious
My lips open

I drink the tea
I pass water but do not swim