Getting up one morning in a bedroom at Newnham
Looking out into the manicured green lawns
Gemma said : my nose is blocked, no I am not Really thinking straight at all
In fact there is not a thought in my head.
Well, I can rise above this messy state :
Nothingness of my Being, me, hanging nowhere,
By writing about it. Then there is
Some meaning to it. Well, I can look
At one of the many quirky paintings and photographs
Hung on the walls. That is a slender thread
I can hang onto and pull myself
Up into the World, get into the thick of things
Interpreting it right from the roots
Rising up to the stars. Then I will have
Become. No longer will the World be a blank sheet.
Then I might begin to read some Merleau-Ponty
And Sophocles, make a raft out of them
To float to land on some sunny beach