The glass is half empty again.
Strange that I should feel so ‘down’ after being part of such good things recently- but it is part of a familiar pattern, and this too will pass.
Because I set myself to some kind of honesty here (or at least a nod in its direction) I will practice the old vulnerability of poetry.
Forgive the mawkish self pity- and worry not- all the best people are broken. And I am more broken than most.
Oh- and forgive the bad language. Not something I would normally resort to, but in this instance, it seemed apposite.
There are words that run through me
Like a stick of Blackpool rock
Revealed again at each teeth jarring splinter
Slickened in scornful accusation
All f****d up
Better not to let you bite
At this broken edged circle
Lest you read me clearly
And God is gone
Even if the space he left behind