I’ve drank from countless fetid wells
each sip was sickly oceans
no salmon there, just bones and shells
a dead man under potions
for I snared thoughts just floating by
and held myself to ransom
with all the ins and outs and whys
just gutting what I chanced on
a frantic spiral into mind
where slavery’s the calling
in morning wanting evening time
at night-time wanting morning
among the folk in dead-end lanes
us serfs to others’ ruling
believing pleasure follows pain
what bred that, us or schooling
I know that we must plough the ground
I know this life is service
but all this running round and round
it really makes me nervous
so I would rather stand and wait
at sunsets and at dawnings –
O why do I deliberate
when Heaven she is calling?
I hear her when the shallows fade
she opens when I’m gentle
she is the business of my day
the gaps between the mental