I have a book to write and recently, I’ve lost the ability to write. I read my recent book tonight, and it was almost as if I was reading the work of someone I admire, and can never be. This upsets me a little, as I know I wrote that book severely undermedicated. Since that book came out, my medication was increased and more added. Writing poetry has been hard, but here is the first full one I have written in weeks. It has no title yet. I’m trying to marry alternative spiritualism, psychology, and the pastoral, whilst trying to remain contemporary and I’ve set myself a stupidly high standard. My inner editor is a real cunt right now, but I’m actually happy with this one. I hope you are all happy with it too, and thank you to those who are still reading after the dramatic posts of this summer.
Trimming your beard
Neglecting the top button of a
Second hand shirt, to be a trip
In the mirror, for me- you are a
Separate you, seeing things afresh.
This man who knows – you,
Who knows – is the man who sees
Several parallels at once:
One world and its ten imposters
Soil and river heights, his
Girlfriend’s silly witchcraft
And newfound earth study
You do not know
That you, and only you,
Illuminate me as a Goldstone.