Run

I hardly thought of you these past few years.

But now that your cord has been broken, I’m upset.

I’d like to know how it happened, but I should not.

In what way would that make anything better?

If I was pure in heart, I would feel empathy for you and your family.

What makes me upset is the charity we’re meant to donate to.

You were special in my eyes.

Now this disease seems to explain most of what I knew about you.

Tap, tap, tap, you run upstairs.

Then you burst in half-naked, into our shared living room

Using only a towel to cover you.

“Shit!” you exclaim. You have somewhere to be rushing to.

When you screamed in delight at a mathematical proof,

It wasn’t you being you, it was your disease.

The way in which you ran out of the world,

Mysterious to me, and so it should remain,

Was probably a product of your illness too.

And so, when a prime minister sanctimoniously 

Refuses to give the name of a mass murderer

So as not to give him some supposed satisfaction

Beyond his self-chosen grave

I will refuse to name this illness,

This murderer of my image of you.

But enough has been said.

Tell me, will you run between the stars now?

Will you orienteer in space?

I hope the Universe can’t contain you

If it could not keep you in its place.

Age and all

The mental breakdown
Dementia breaks down
Each Life,Like,Vic,Tim

At stroke of Midnight
Cat purrs he let Jim
Stroke for midnight gym

Those who can, survive
Those who can't, serve chills
News that cancer kills

In the end: return we must
Each takes turns to turn to dust
But he minds the lives we live

Or at least I hope there is
One who made us, one to give
Our lives back to, rest in peace.

Self conscious bias

I am -- lost for words
I can -- only give
Worlds, images old

My eyes, they are closed
A game, as it flows
Across my mind's reel

The spine of a hill;
A start -- now it snows,
Covering the trail;

Fresh footsteps they bear
The way before fog:
Follow, round the bend.

Step, step, and descend;
Snow turns more mushy:
Slush, slush, it's a dream

I step into stream
Of subconsciousness;
I unravel.

In

Travels
Through my mind
I can but find

The search and research
Of that which can't be
Like a proof, deduced

Or even reduced.
Ink on my forehead
Unwitting witness

If all is witless
How fine and reckless
This series of dreams.