Flash cars speeding by
Jet aircraft in the sky
If I had a cigarette
Now would be the perfect time
But I don’t
And I haven’t for seventeen years
Although it seems, or appears
To be considerably longer
Instead it is a bar of chocolate
With my diet Coke
And an Americano coffee
With these words that I write
Part of his soul
Will always stay
With the cricket club
Yet my soul
Is not yet fully infused here
With the sound of bat on ball
Of course there was a time
In another place
Of a Saturday afternoon
And maybe, just maybe
I might relive
That most splendid experience
A ball leveraged through mid-off
Onto the seated terrace
Or clouted, over mid-on, into the river
But here the boundaries are land
Land and more land
To all four corners
It feels cold outside
I will wait for the sun
To warm things up
Yes, when the blue sky
Replaces the grey
Then I will venture out
Even if springtime
Is not yet fully with us
I was distracted
Distraction for myself
First with Gratefulness
Then with the journal
I was confused
Confusion for myself
First with the news
Then with doubts about capitalism
The pleasure
Of a laying down
Half-sleeping
Meditation
On the cusp of waking
From a gentle
Dualistic lover’s dream
To be in the midst
Of nothing
With nothing on one’s mind
To be among nowhere
With nowhere
Being thought about
No roads
Nor railways
Or rivers
No aeroplanes
Nor airborne skaters
Or secrets flying by
The serenity
Of laying
In the half-being
Of a being totally at one
