Liquid unmodernity

My brain has turned to liquid and it’s dripping from my ears
I need some kind of tampon to absorb this sudden rush
Why did noone tell me this is frightful to endure?
My brain has turned to liquid and it’s dripping from my ears
I think it’s far too late to expect a total cure
I’ll never hear the little voice nor see the burning bush
My brain has turned to liquid and it’s dripping from my ears
Where’s an alcoholic then, to drink the mighty rush



What is a continent?

I have got more and more incontinent.
Do stop admiring Europe

I don’t want to kill a virus.Jesus said: love your enemies
They had no viruses then

I love bacteria.Is that a crime?
Well, it’s hard to have sex with one but it may be a sin

Why do the government tell us to eat more fruit and veg?
To help evacuate he Common Market from our bodies


Why do the government not have enough beds in hospitals?
They can’t all go to sleep at once

Why don’t the government buy more beds?
For their castles?

Why are people upset by isolation?
They feel like lepers

Why do we eat food?
What else could we do with it?

Why are the fishing men so upset?
They thought Boris Johnson told the truth

Why do people think truth does not exist?
Soon they will stop believing even that!

Is logic better than emotion?
That is meaningless

I’d love to play the viola
And how long have you felt like this?
For years
Take these tablets and come back next week
Shall I bring the viola.doctor?



Friends

1939:Last train out of Warsaw

Photo by Josh Hild on Pexels.com

Elena,a baby wrapped in woollen clothes.
On the last train,Warsaw to Moscow,
[ change Niegoreloje.]
1939.Father,mother,brother
You passed through the Arctic Wastes of life.
Still as if travelling on a train
To an impossibly far destination.
As you left the German Army crashed into Warsaw
Lost,your aunts
Your cousins.
Your culture.
How does God select the damned?
You had your own baby,here in England,
Not lost like all those others.
Your father died by his own hand,
The hand of history;
The fingers twitching,
Not sure where to point.
Then settling into frozen grief
A sculpture only your mother saw.
You saw too,Elena.
You always saw,though you can’t remember;
The long journey, your mother’s breast,
Your father’s silence.
Only the dead know that silence.
Only the dead weep
With the rocks and stones .
And the ice in each eye
Fell like snow down your cheeks
As you held your own infant.
Warsaw to Moscow,
Moscow to Jerusalem.
Always journeying
Looking for what they can never find:
The home they left behind
The presence of the dead
Lying in gaunt heaps
Like rubbish
Your aunts, Elena.
Your cousins.
You never knew them.
But there’s a hole in your mind
Through which the Polish wind forever blow