Page 641 Picador paperback edition
“I left Paris this morning”
And my own location now doesn’t interest me
All that matters is the emptiness
The hollowness one feels
After the back cover of the book
Slams like a prison gate
Leaving me an instant recidivist
Yearning for the paper dungeon
Of course I never believed my sentence
120 chapters covering the known
History of the world would ever end
Denied the rushing finish as surely as
Belbo ignored Diotallevi’s wasting illness
Failed to register how quickly my eyes
Scanned the lines a kayak caught
In the cascading currents of the plot
Until like a babe
Who had fought with all its might
To stay within its aqueous egg
I find myself obscenely
Outside the safety of the walls
Prescribed within the arc of
That omniscient Pendulum
Needing desperately to escape
The fiction of reality inside
A new reality of fiction

There’s a tee-shirt that reads:
No, I haven’t finished my ****** thesis yet!
Well I know why we wear them
How can you finish something you are afraid to start?
It’s quite a rational terror
Not of the unknown
But a fear of the overly interesting
The dangerous the seductive the all embracing
Once you have begun the reading
Ideas start flowing
Prosaic matters begin to pale
Like money (as in making enough to live)
Home food relationships
Maybe even sleep
And you are sure
You are dead sure
That once you begin
There will be no returning
To a contented life
With visible boundaries and easy hopes
Do I dare
Will I unbind my arms
Release the mast
And surrender to the Siren
No no not ready yet
Better to pull on that tee-shirt
And write a little poem.

Just done a bit of a quick edit here
In front of me
Lies a dying sonnet
But I’m not sure
The first stanza works
And the following quartet
Now seems a bit sudden
So I guess we’re down
To a mere six lines
Hey that last couplet
Doesn’t look bad.
Well at least
The second half is OK
So here it goes
Just done a bit of a quick edit here

Hot and cold
Me and Mike

Bring those lips over here
Come close
Closer
Whoa
Not too near
Don’t rush me darling

Like my look
Hard and black
Pitted but still smooth skin

Want to blow
Some warm breath over me
Easy
Air I said not saliva

Hey don’t get sulky
Keep your sweaty thumb
Off my button

Stay
I know you need me honey
Otherwise
They won’t hear your poetry

YOU WHO IGNORE TIME
DO NOT PITY ME
UNDER MEDICAL SENTENCE
MY WASTING BODY
NO LONGER HELD
BY LIFE’S EMPTY PROMISES
TASTES EACH INHALATION
ENJOYS EVERY TASTE
GREETS NEW MORNINGS
WITH RAPTURE

NO ROSES FEEL
AS SOFT AS
THESE LAST FLOWERS
NO PETALS FALL
AS SLOWLY AS
AS THESE FINAL BLOOMS
NO COLOURS FILL
AS FULLY AS
THESE AUTUMN LEAVES

AND WHEN
IN MY LAST DAYS
I LAY
BETWEEN PAIN AND PEACE
THIS PRESENT LOVELINESS
WILL GENTLY EVEN THOSE
FEARFUL MOMENTS

DO NOT LEAVE ME
BEFORE I LEAVE YOU
DO NOT WAIT AND BRING
AN EMPTY BODY TRIBUTE
GIVE ME FLOWERS NOW
I WILL ENJOY
BOTH YOUR PRESENCE AND THEM
SO VERY MUCH

Festive fingers
Allegretto shape
Black mist
Over arched insteps
Passed twin valleys
Where Achilles fell
Now glissando
Palms smooth
Whispering patterns
Across flowing calves
Navigate knees
Bony promontories
Until pianissimo
Spatulate hands
Taut lace against
Trembling thighs
Would that those

Worshipping hands
Were mine.

Ignore my imperious hand at your peril
At its beck lie
All the fearful legions of Rome
Take heed you who would pass
Without my leave
This arm may summon the might of Empire
Attend me with care
Choice is mine not yours
Decisions belong to the Senate
Proceed now as I direct
And as you travel in peace know
Your peace lies in the hands of Rome