You know those crazy days when you wake all bedridden? The two piece telephone is ringing through a smashed glass panel in the proprietor’s front door. Of course you’re dying at this point in time, in the colloquial sense that one can endure without succumbing to the latest deadly common bug that pre-mass programming we used to shake off like an unwanted hand upon the shoulder. Yeah I mean generally what you want to do is just answer the phone. Pick up.

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I’d to silence the sinning speaker
As I’d no need now, I am fit to sin alone
Several devils had served me in smiles
That only bolstered in me upright intent

I drip fed the foaming wash 
A tear for every tooth revealed
One for every hill sped atop the filly
Belly flat to her spine, press of head 

Against her fine long neck. I’d to
Own up to any indiscretion , which
Were all of them, to ensure the next
Man drank off his thirst from a clean glass

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Young stubborn nature
Expressed in coarse 
Waxen spiked leaves

Their exoticism lasts
Not so long. Year round,
No accoutrements.

Some old oak, though
It’s form dips and peaks
Is wiser for the experience

Aging thriving long standing
Like mother and father
Willing to die tiny deaths
The canopy allows another sun

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Native American warriors
Paint their faces and
Wear blazing trails 
Of fine feathers 

Riding into battle
One must be suitably
Tailored if one’s appearance 
Is to have the desired effect

Enemy’s wives’ heads turn
We do not slaughter the women
Later we will have a smoke and
The medicine man will regale us

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Government man insisted
And so the basket was set
NBA standards some ventured
A prompt idealist, always some idea

I’d never any great ability
The heavy ball refused to yield
Young lads wrought of athletic build
Mastered the technique 

Shed the gawky unsure step
Grew into my frame
Acquired a rapport with the ball
And put myself about

Invited to a 5 a side with league players
The gulf in skill apparent and accepted
My persistence in defence appreciated
Even got a goal

A clap on the back and some love
It wasn’t the finest score
My workmate backed me all the same
As later I would in music

Camaraderie and encouragement
Carrot and stick
A treatment unique
To every man

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A friend of mine went out to the cliffs
To praise the sea and marvel
As the rock face endured
A furious storm unyielding

Automatic writing was more
Than some gimmick, not that
He was beyond celebrating
A great’s folly

In madness drooling with thumping lust
Pursued the daughter with reams rhymed reeling
An eye to the fields and Heaney’s clan
Who’d no grand circle to run in

Dark arts dabbled in with mastery
Molesting minds yet unweathered
A broken jockey at his side, pouring
Poison for to wake their countrymen

The old stone lighthouse
Blinked at him still
Barbershop chat
Would follow the meal

And a savage thirst
For the blood of every knowing
Would sit a’ peace
In the contemporary’s cove