It is gnawing away tonight,
the alien, the parasite,
the body’s own black dog
with sharpened claws
and rabid spittle chocked teeth
is eating away at the spine
and I want to scream
this is not who I am…
but I left it far too late,
procrastinating
about Time,
always Time,
in which to reason with the parasite
that gnaws at my spine…
reason…
how to reason with the enemy within
and how to keep arguing
I am but the gracious Fool of a negligent king.
He only speaks when nobody can see me
or when nobody can feel the disdain
of his regal flapping tongue’s insanity
as it proves to be as afraid
of the dark as he.
I am but the foolish grace
in harlequin clothes
and hey nonny irrational repose
as I embrace your impudent soul,
as I cradle your elderly, dusty, ancient bones
and psychologically fractured mind.
I am but an honourable Fool
Welcome to the New Reich,
Welcome to the
British Reich,
you might not be able to see the dawn
of the new realm yet
through the glaze of square eyed
television or perhaps you
haven’t felt the terror
seeping in through the gutter,
Welcome to the New Reich.
Welcome to the New Reich,
suits you, suits them,
suits for all, boxes
for all, tick boxes, categories, the confidence trick,
just a small cut here, a nip there,
a tuck away for a rainy day,
There was a certain element of surprise
when I found out you had been reading
C.S. Lewis in the time
between spare time
and after your morning walk,
no longer with lead in hand
after so many years of boundless joy.
The surprise was split both ways,
mine at you finally reading
a book I first devoured
in dark army ticking blanket
days and under the cover so the Witch
could not see me, yours,
that I knew exactly what you meant
when you said The Horse and his Boy,
The argument ran thus;
“What has Maths ever done for me?,
I mean it’s not like I even pretended
to take notice of the sex life
of the binary equation
and the evening antics of bisect,
the washing lines of Bicester not safe
when bisect was around, I haven’t given a toss
about trigonometry or the centimetre
since I discovered word play,
a cuboid is a Star Trek legend,
to estimate is for friends
the formula is a sport I don’t follow
a nine sided polygon is just
I’m sure they won’t be satisfied
until the day is forty-eight hours long
and still with only a few hours sleep
available between work and death;
they would find a way,
by shifting digits, by claiming
the Earth actually needs to go round
the Sun twice
to constitute a year, or just by simply
brow beating into the kids
that a day is twice as long as they think
by sending them too school for longer
and forgoing the activities
that make them become who they are;
Promise me, if you can
that you won’t go out blazing
like Hemmingway,
she whispered in the darkness
of my thoughts whilst
forever bathing with sweetness and
open minded serenity,
I can cope with you fighting the bear,
I see the sense in wandering off into the great
unknown and the untouchable
but you are no Hemmingway,
you are not that selfish.
I thought about it for a while,
In between the tolling of the clock
and agreed, I would never see the sense
They still come,
they still knock on the door ,
they will forever kick at the door
they come for the disabled
because now we are the softest target,
not realising that we are all the victims
of any sort of infirmity,
but soon they will come for you
and we will not be able to speak for you,
your crime, the worry in your head
and the flowering nagging and revelation
that all is not right, all is not well,
for they come for the Muslim woman next door,
I have sought you out for so long,
just the glimpse of you in the distance
I find, and over time I have echoed your song,
but you have kept away with terrible insistence.
How much longer will you keep me at arms subtle length
I mourn for you, I ache and I desire
what little resolve I have, that you will take my strength
for the blaze of damnation in your hands, in your forgiving fire.
Yet your black cloak, hood, sheer stockings allude me,
I could still see your eyes
as I searched through lost decades
in which Time was a peculiar beast;
beautiful as all forty somethings are
when they allow memories to flow,
sincere when they are told
of loved ones who declined
to make it this point,
charming with upturned smile
as Time for a brief while
allows the mystery to unfold
like a rose blooming in the twilight,
the sparkle of energy and questions
and revealing answers never once
thought of during a previous time