Not Even an Introduction

I don't even have a title today, or the will to finish it properly. Now that I've been indulged with a social life again, I can't keep up with the intense demands I've put on my psyche. But I don't expect anyone else to either, and that's why I'm running for Mayor next season. But also, this is a lie. End monologue. 

I start the day sneezing.

There’s nothing like it

to wrench your chest open

and expose your heart

to the cool wind of the morning.

In the milk light

time passes at double urgency.

My mouth makes its way

around various seed compounds

and my pancreas smiles.

I’m getting ready for something big.

We all are. There are songs about it

written inside toilet cubicles,

songs so cryptic that cracking them

would crack the egg at the centre of the earth

and then we’d be sunk, for sure.

But what’s it all about, Alfie?

I don’t know, and this poem

Is proving to be a lot more difficult

to finish that I thought it would be.