december

in december
the memories swamp me
hospital beds,
bottles lobbed in the air
waiting for the crash
a thousand words
ripples caused by words and world events
your breasts, your lips.
you know, it´s the wrong end of the telescope,
not so important,
crumple it up and trash it.
i fear life´s dance floor
i fear the normal interrogations
i fear the dismissive jerk of the head
no-one can turn this ship around
on my behalf.
i shall roll myself another song
and cook myself a new poem