A Bizarre Week

A BIZARRE WEEK

Goodbye to the lover who says
Love in his sleep.
My mind can’t cope with work
Today. So
Sleep, sleep.

A day of education
I’d give my guts to give
Away to some poor soul.
I’m not smiling at you today.

Packed inside a tin can,
London’s packed police
Are storming on the corners
Of Trafalgar and dare
Gaze at the moon eyes of
Elizabeth, Holbein’s catch.
I slipped away.

The doctor says I’m fine –
Fine sugar, fine iron;
He’s got fatter.
White blood cells will find
You ill and down.
What you’re feeling now,
It isn’t real.
Get over your chemicals,
Little body.
Glandular fever doesn’t
Make you want to
Kill yourself, sir.
I’m ill now.

Success, the blood is sapped and taken.
The man’s a fool,
It’s in your head:
It’s real.
Welcome, voice, I’ll listen to you.
A breeze, a breeze.

Beccles calls: another dusted line
Where I should stand,
Dressed up to the eyes,
So obsolete it makes me sick.
No sell today, sunshine.
I’m tired, I’m useless,
I’m a terrible friend.
“Wednesday would have killed me,
But Mother held me back.”
Tears perched on the lids of those beautiful eyes,
And I wished for a knife in my gut.
I’m so ugly.

And yet here you are again,
Lover with the beautiful eyes
That remain dry and wise
As always. And
Here again
Is farewell.