how this health haunts
how it has to be fine
how it has to continue to be fine

the other world is stubborn
but fragile
and, I think, dissonant

it is and isn’t a tunnel
and is and isn’t about dark and light
but more an open road not chosen

~

~

~

‘it will be a wonderful surprise…’
– Mike Ferguson

Restless iteration and sleepwalking
do not a soft footfall make. Transcend
the unsung lumber of everyday and
waking is estranged from body, mind
and the sensorial mapping of morning.

The time between sunset and sunrise
is also time between dusk and dawn,
the point of contact with dreams
when old age enters the body. Skin
sloughs as memory exits and escapes.

I abandon the idea of being human.
Flung clear of day, transactions occur:
intelligible words for nameless fear,
vigour for pain, arthritis in any joint
you care to name. Held together by

language, children and ambition,
we fight to combat helplessness,
find our place in the world, even as
friends and colleagues leave, migrate
towards uncertain burial or flames.

© Rupert M Loydell

Pleased to have my poem ‘Damage’ at International Times today – with thanks to them and Rupert. Remember Truss and Kwarteng?

~

Some slob tracked burning styrofoam across the dear sky’s parlor
and Airstream trailers run silver and mindless across 80
toward Nebraska like minnows down a drainpipe.
If all this, our stalled-on-the-shoulder, floorboard love,
amounts to more than heat-waves or jerky strips,
I’ll quit talking about the architecture of Quik Trips
and I’ll plan a moon pie in the median and when we return
next May to see its wet, alien stalks,
I’ll wonder at the days we’ve seen, Jesus, baby, the days that we have seen.

~