Today’s poem was written in light of extreme sleep deprivation and what seemed like a never ending and therefore surreal hopping on and off cabs, coaches and planes. That says it all, I think, so here it goes.
It must have been like this in my mother’s womb:
a soft buzz of mysterious engines,
brisk turbulences with every coughing fit
– which god is it that heaves or grumbles or sickens? –
this feeling that is always both more and less
than fear, I must have had it then too,
as a homunculus without memories
and with no sense of death. I take a deep breath
and focus on the pregnant lack at the centre
of the self – all sounds become waves
and I am a floating speck of dust
riding the dragon. It is not so bad after all,
living this suspended life.