ON WONDERING WHERE THE GOALPOSTS EVEN ARE

it is 

hard to
carry on
with this writing game
when i could fall face down 

all over the floor instead

& cling to the edges of the rug
swamped by the useless raving

of all the trying things

& the iron & blue & dusty jewel

that is our constant moon 

is gradually backing away

& i cant blame them

~

& on the tightrope

over the panic net 

i am trying not to happen at all

& trying to be like bracken or moss

like deadfall or a railway sleeper

but i do get up again

for my meatsock needs

 

& i see a bird in the garden
all the colours of oil

& i get on with it again

with writing this down