The Early Days I (Poetry)

the early days

of untrustworthy cognitions

of streets with too many corners

adventures behind each one

and pictures too

writing up tables

and plans for survival

the poet had just killed himself

as poets are wont to do

but there are lots of

other

new

ghosts here

too

of going undetected

through your streets and your circles

in your back rows

different spectacles each time

until they found out

declared my income and that this would not go on

that I would take and eat and grow

value

jets and ferries and planets

so many of them

days and days of blinding sunshine

my bed smells like light and air

the days of the

goddess of denial

who strenghthens one with vacancy

with independence (i tried to kill her i have not seen her since)

and the God who was even closer

I have not forgotten,

my first night here

you gave me food and talked about the return of the prodigal

and my soul smiled

kyrie, eleison

and long ago

the days of cider and guitars

and giving your heart to jesus

my soul was older then

but my world less daunting

it is early days yet

and we shoudn't read into it too much

square zero is an excellent place

from which to start

perhaps they do not hate me after all