A WORKMAN MORNING

the moment

i spend 

with 

the
four
mismatched
mugs

on a patterned plastic tray

for the early bird workmen

who park up their machines
& laugh at the heaving clouds

is some kind of something

is a place of grace & space

& the winter mild 

coming in 

the open kitchen door

is

like

a

lullaby

for a cartoon bear

& the only darkness

is the december sky

& no ones fault 

no ones fault at all

UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS

its a 
strange kind 
of painful 
isnt it ?
to see 
yourself 
with 
unbearable lightness
d
o
w
n there
as if 
from 
the ceiling
and 
that face 
you live behind
Good Lord
My Days     
you think 
that 
Meat Mask 
is me ?

~

and 
theres that 
Mind Murder
drs calmly call
Social Anxiety
that 
ridiculous 
hyperawareness
that makes
all your
clothes
all wrong
in the 
careless light 
Outside

that 
unbearable lightness 
of a
hot flush
sweat out 
on your 
first job 
bus ride
and
the wet palms 
in the 
newsagent
or in 
effing topman
cos you dont 
want anyone 
to know
which fizzy pop
or leather belt
you want
to buy
cos theyll
judge your need
and theyll
judge your choice
and
its an 
endless examination
and re-eaxmination
and
its panic 
in the 
canteen queue 
holding a
plastic tray
like you
stole an
afterbirth
thinking
how to . . .
and then . . .
but how . . .
and then hunger 
takes its 
back seat
under a 
tightened belt
(from effing
 topman)

its like 
wearing 
ducks feet
in a 
rush hour 
high street
with a 
microscope 
looking thru 
a telescope
in
your
unbearably light 
ptsd mind

image from youtube