A parched breath of morning

my brain is dead
a numbskull
an imbecile
a rotting lump of lard

it wakes this morning
in the throes of emptiness
it has drank my coffee
and nibbled a nibble

it has opened the curtains
dived in the shower
drank another coffee
and nibbled another nibble

so here it is
writing an empty thing
a parched breath of morning
a slice of cake
without the cream!

The lack of it

They appeared
in those days
as a feeling

and finished
I felt them.

I knew when a poem
was coming through
because of the pain

my head would be bursting
for days on end
and then a poem
worked better than pills.

Sometimes, thankfully
I’d get a weird gut feeling
and I knew
I felt
and I wrote.

Now I’m on different pills
so my blood isn’t boiling
my head isn’t bursting
and my gut isn’t feeling
so often

but neither is the poetry

(except for this 3am sleepless drivel!)