Then as if to blind me
as I soared into the sun
your words came up
behind me, but
my mind was tied into the star
and so I couldn’t find you.

One more dream to put in the rack
one more going and then coming back
and what was all that about?

Morning brings more than questions
that could be answered sometime
before noon.

tears drop, stop
drop, stop
why when no one is looking
am I so fuckin’ sad?

perhaps relief is the thief of anxiety
run that by me
perhaps the thief of relief,
the relief of a thief.
good grief,
are you mad?,
he said to himself.

I try
I do try
my trying is legendary,
Tom to Jerry and Jerry replied,
I never once tried,
it’s just a talent,

I inject a synthetic
become automatic
end up
psychiatric and
licking my self inflicted

synaesthesia sounds easier
but it’s a sod to pronounce

© 2018, John Smallshaw.