YELLOW STAR

the AM hospital smells
like 
sandpits and bleach
cut flesh and old toast

and my waking mind is reminded 
of
endless junior school PMs
trapped on a small seat or in a shining corridor of adult echoes

maybe its guilt that joins the now and then like hands

guilt then of Whatever and Who Knows
and
guilt now of sick time and cancelled counselling

guilt that is healing
deep in my heart bone and slow in my lizard brain
like
mornings rays from the yellow star reaching into the valleys
of
the
clammy rain wet country lanes
where sweat prickles my cycling clothes 
and fogs the glass on my nose

the thick lurid green looks claustrophobic and messy
an enormous and humid cupboard under the stairs

and 
i'll paint it all one day
in childrens crayons and free biros
of mint and sea-blues
on
the
blank challenge of nude A4
i'll
climb the feint lines with cramp and lunges
of weird experience
and dull insight
both 
at 
once 
armour and a spear