Autopilot | Angelica Fuse
Amazing
how quickly
I revert
to the old
patterns
how quickly
I sound like
I did a year
ago
I want to be
more
than an empty
persona.
Amazing
how quickly
I revert
to the old
patterns
how quickly
I sound like
I did a year
ago
I want to be
more
than an empty
persona.
Little by little
then moment by moment
measured out
minutely, you crept
into my life like a vine,
leafing and spreading,
filling my garden
with precious herbs
I did not know
would heal my wounds.
Listening to the pattering
window panes come alive
at night, like rotund ghosts.
Sleep walks in mid-dream,
in mornings the hail storms gather around the flowers
to chat.
I had to invent
a voice, a new face
last night
Judge me if you please
There was no more
interest in full old
me, old friends
Leaving me by myself
to compose in empty rooms.
I loathe
the childish me
who pushes to get
his way,
who still hesitates
to share his toys,
who grins
when he gets what
he wants.
It’s a toss up,
my life in the air
I fly above the swollen earth
looking for a spot to land
I am a restless space
Traveler, uncertain
of true home,
distant stars call my family
name.
As the bubbles stream upwards
from my gasping mouth,
my arms picture frame
everything in thrashing thunder,
I see the bottom of them
twirling like Catherine Wheels,
sending me to Coventry
and embracing the sunshine
petal wide.
I can’t blame them.
More at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.