Filed under: eating, health, pain, regression | Tags: breathing, dark, deep, feelings, fish, sea
Beneath the solar plexus
Is where it starts
That is where all the year’s
Undone things crowd for
Warmth, shivering like tramps
Round a spitting petrol drum.
Undone, why? Because I
Filled my cup and bowl too full
Scared that if
Too light
I might float up to the
Surface and, breathing,
See the whole universe.
Things left undone, good things,
Real things,
Like collecting leaves for
Compost or supporting a
Shoulder stand.
Things that require presence in a world
With me at the centre,
Such things are left undone.
Instead, come feelings,
Doubts, thoughts about the size
And shape of things unseen-
THE thing, the tumour- shhhh-
Not that, don’t think it,
What if thoughts be things!
Better to sink back into
The dark Deep for a while,
Where life is lightless and
The bloated stomach cannot
Taste or choose,
Programmed like an angler fish
To digest all passers by
No time to wait for hunger:
A leisure for the light.
