Saturday 6th February



Back in Essex I’m shaking, making re-entry into civilian life is a
car crash of emotions. Drive, find a corner of a cafe & write.
The pen in meditation with the paper, finds discipline between the
lines, breathes deep & regular again. Been talking all day, every day
for five days straight. Running off the end of the runway into barbed
wire. Prompted, probed, pulled to pieces, dissected, directed,
laid bare, investigated & observed. Photographed when I’m trashed,
rabbit in the headlights, every last ounce of poetry extracted.
Sat on the plane last night vibrating, some foul mouthed twat givin’
it the large one in the row behind, regardless of company.
Geezer mouth, no etiquette, women & children in earshot,
big-shot-little-man, throw-back to the eighties. The inside of my skin
crawls, itches, the legs, the feet begin to dance beneath the seat.
The woman next to me sneezes, the theatrical steward hard-sells
scratch cards, repeating the same inane poetry.I begin to mutter
& rock, strapped in, 30,000 feet above the earth.


6 thoughts on “Saturday 6th February

  1. Yuck…my idea of hell 😣…anyhoo your radio show on 6 yesterday was damn good for sure!!…only managed to hear half..shall listen on the iplayer to it again plus the rest of the show 😊

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