People who really know me ask, “Do you still write?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, “I’ve never been more inventive or less relevant.”

unparalleled views across town
from fourth floor windows
taking in the changing autumn landscape
(an estate agent's *******)
the quiet room where moments
are spent contemplating a life ending
visitors wondering will you be here
for their return in the morning
but you survived your Armageddon
against all medical expectation
tenacious old man
a shadow of who you used to be
with a whisper of a future

I scream at the demons
pushing over indiscriminate objects
tripping me through clear doorways
knocking things from my feeble hands
laughing constantly in my head
like evil clowns

I live my life
with the blindness of the sun
searing days with nuclear rays
burning, burning, everyone

Beyond my mind no description exists of who I am

I have only ever engaged in meaningful conversation when I have been silent.