Who am I?
A man of principle
Who would not wish anyone to come to harm
Least of all through his own acts, words or deeds.
Or am I a predatory sloth
Waiting in the shadows
For another unsuspecting female
To walk by
Whereupon, I would slither out
And try to entice her into the darkness
To share some loathsome activity
Under the heading of Art?
Am I the merry idiot whose sharp asides
Are the very essence of wit
Or am I thinking, planning, scheming
An unacceptable attack on the virtue
Of young virgins attracted by my fame
And yet mollified by my illness.
Yes, who is this man who is desperate to shed his clothes
In order to reveal the real him
The naked babe in the cot
Before sin permeated his disgusting mind
I speak of him now in the third person
Even I cannot own him.
Who is he?
Nothing.
A battery operated *** doll
Drugged out of his mind
Who can hardly speak or walk in a straight line
Let alone stand tall and *****.
I have told you who he is.
Now, you tell me
Who am I?

What is it that you do now
That you have never done before?
What is it that I did not do before
That I do now?

What do you think now
That you never thought before?
What did I think before
That I give no thought to now?

What do you feel now
That you had no feeling for before?
What did I feel before
That I have no feeling for now?

I love you now
I loved you before

I think of you now
I thought of you before

I feel for you now
I felt for you before

But you are not here
You are there

And I am not there
I am here

I am walking ,
Alone, down a path in a forest
I hear nothing,
I hear everything,
The crunch of the dry earth under my feet,
The buzz of the wings of a wasp rushing by, black and yellow,
The breeze whispering in the trees,
Then I hear a different sound,
So pure and clear,
It is someone singing.
I move towards the voice
And come upon a lake
You are sitting by the water’s edge,
Drying your hair,
I sit next to you,
My eyelids droop,
I wake in the in the dusk.
There is no singing,
There is no sound at all,
You have gone
But you were here.

If you have what I have,
You will know that it affects every aspect of your life,
Your relationships,
Your friendships,
Your cognitive powers,
Your speech,
Your sleep
Your gait,
Your balance,
Your normality,
Your dribbling,
Your sense of smell,
Your marriage,
Your parenthood,
Your grandparenthood,
Your anxiety,
Your sensitivity,
Your reason,
Your mortality,
Your self-worth,
Your ****** performance,
Your self-respect,
Your ability to pull your socks on in the morning,
Your ability to joke,
Your ability to hide,
Your ability to stand still,
Your ability to swallow,
Your weight,
Your timing,
Your swagger,
Your urination and your defecation,
And if you happen to find a way to combat all this,
You are praised,
Which is very nice,
Very kind,
Very welcome,
Very uplifting,
Very comforting,
Very satisfying,
Very pleasing,
Very inspiring,
But it doesn’t go away,
It is always there,
Every second,
Every minute,
Every hour,
Every day,
Every week,
Every month,
Every year of your life until,
You die.
If you have Parkinson’s Disease,
You will know all this.

There was a bow,
On a hook,
By the door,
By the green door.
It was a ribbon of red silk
I was not afraid,
I saw your white skin,
In the surf  
Under the grey sky.
Why am I writing these words?
I didn’t want it to happen,
I didn’t want my life misshapen,
I didn’t want another sister
To replace her,
But there was a bow,
On the hook
By the door,
By the red door.
She unravelled the ribbon of red silk;
She held it tight between both hands
Across her mouth.
I saw the fold of skin behind her ear,
It was too late;
She had gone.
That is why I write as I do;
To tell the truth.
To say categorically,
I am not your brother,
I will not be your brother,
I never was your brother,
I long to touch you.
And so I say these words of love
To reach out,
To touch you.
There.

I called you loud, the other night
The other night I called you loud
I did not mean brash or mouthy
I was referring to the volume
But
Thinking back
I realise that you were in a rage
The loudness of your voice
Was needed to bring down
The walls that surround you
Like the trumpets at Jericho
It is your way of breaking out
Into the next phase of your life
From the prison in which you live
Of which I am a brick in the wall
Well, good luck to you and God speed
You have the voice to do it
I did it and, for a while, I was free
But then the posse was formed
To bring me back home
So run my darling
Shout all you like
Make art which will shock and surprise
And make people open their eyes

Oh fly me to thy bed,
Princess of the light.
Do not wait upon thy conscience
But love me there as I would wont to love thee.

And how would that be?
Soft and silent as a petal to the touch?
Or hard and rough,
Like the careless storms of winter?

No, it would be as thou desireth
So long as I am in the partnership of it.
I would accept thy every whim,
So to lie with thee upon thy grace.

‘Tis God’s truth
That I love the very core of thee;
Each movement of the clock
Hath marked this state.

Does it too, set the beat of my heart
In perfect harmony with thine,
Or is it discordant calamity
That falleth upon mine ear?

No, that clamour is
Born of the dancing of angels,
In joy in laughter in celebration
Of my love
And thine.