A ***** film fixes itself onto a loop behind my eyelids.
The particulars fall apart all around me
And Plato’s cave becomes more of a cell.

How hard it is to swallow
The pill of panic that sticks and forms
Into that lump
In your throat.
The one that resides from the first steps into school
And onward the rest of your life.

And I write,
I write to stay sane
To calm my breath
To organise those thoughts
And to reduce that shriek of depression
Into a bray of indifference.

Hey Porter,
What price for the forgotten vinyl in the corner,
And the dog-eared books
Donated by the whiskered old woman?
Hey Porter,
What price for that fish,
To save me the thud of scales on wood
And to see of its return to water?

And I write,
I write to stay calm
Revision: to become calm.
To attempt calm.

And I play,
I strum to the sound of my heartbeat
Until the buzz of strings slows enough
For me to lay down
And crash into my pillow.

How exhausting it is,
To care about every gnat’s demise in the
Twilight of an Indian summer
And every flicker of doubt
You see in the strangers you pass by.