I linger in that mortal realm
display odd tricks
like moving things
caught peripheral in the dawn
or partly heard words and thoughts
so dissatisfied
so unfulfilled
so like that part of me
which lingered at the back of rooms
frightened by party chatter
gauche and gloomy
inept at what I thought was right
and why I chose to die
to escape those petty deaths
I go once more to the happy places
feel once more the pleasant smells
taste once more those views
that caught my breath
made me growth so large
I was the universe in that place
rooted to the earth and sky
absurd now
this ghost of myself
seeking the ghost of the ghost
of a ghast of a moment
forever trapped and never changing
all the while I feel the draining
of my tortured soul on brink of heaven
just let go
and rise
and trust
to remembered
this moorland hill cares not
to whom it lifts it's skirts in splendour
and this ever changing beach
seen again in blue skied summer
oyster-catcher's strutting to dip at the tide
not seeing the shadows of the headland
or bothered by the time
none of this cares for me
trapped within repeating film
for that day I hold special
when bubbled joy ascended
in humanity
just let go
and rise
and trust
to be saved
from that fear of success
that gnaws at you in prison cell
The Blue Book
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