Wednesday, 27 April 2011

Poem on Co codamol


I was up with the mist this morning
The hand of god is the hand of man
Warm sided house
Bright moons illusion
Suspending the night from the bathroom
Scooping something aside to access my thought
Machinery ceased after merely three decades
A quiet service
My belly howls- it howls
I feel like the personal cassette player was the moment of solid safety in my life

Clunk                       -whir.            CLUNK.               But small enough to keep me Godly.