Dislocated

A table set, with cutlery almost perfect - just the one plastic fork. A football field all stripped out in stripes and checks and a referee in glorious pink. Necklaces of bauble diamanté, polished pearls with just the one skeleton eye socket. Rolled over waves of skin wrapped outside the crimpolene and translucent lyrex; most people try to disguise their differences.

But the artist shouts out loud

Look at me I don't give a damn

I'm me

I am supposed to be.

A pretty dress, a Zimmer frame, a swimsuit

All seen through fantastical eyes

Feminist: Black or brown, gay or straight

But no mention of disabled

A collection of paintings

An exhibition

A self of self portraits

Hey you it's me!

So just what did you expect?

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Resonance of the unknown

Grasp the hot poker, stop the shaking, peel away the burnt skin

Steady the nerve, hold still the brush, pick up the mirror

I know nothing of you

But you disturb me

Good that the youngsters shout

That the attendant admonishes

That I am not left alone, simply to be

Nearby are ruins and cathedrals

Torturous pasts, crawled over whispers

I know nothing of you

But still you disturb me

In an easy armchair, on a quiet morning

The storms, they seem to have passed

Grey skies, now with silver sunlight

Soft music falls over the airwaves

Still I know nothing of you

But you disturb me

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Disaffected

Troubled, bent double, creased up without laughter

Bubble, creosote and stubble, the strong sense of ones lost temper

If I sit a thousand hours will it mean anymore

If I touched your crumpled skin or smelt old piss

Why would I

Better to turn away, steer clear

Make for certain not to be affected

Fall back into my shallow ways

Turn down the lights

Turn away from the musing

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Awkward but useful

Untouched by human hand

Kept at bay, always at a distance

Abused by aficionados

Held up on high, for paraplegic parasites

Pillars of establishment

With crooked views on impaired expectations

Sour water

I have drunk from the black bottomless well

Unmoved by human voice, held off

Always some for instance

Down I sink, deeper into the dungeon

Abducted for an exhibition with a catalogue

I am bound with words and pictures

Opened at random

Go away why don't you

Or else move in

Move in much closer

Don't stand, unmoved, at a distance

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Trapped

A double gin injected with tomato juice and liquorice syrup

The consistency of Havoline engine oil, but less fluid

Tumbled over rocks, sharp spikes, granite cliffs

Hung, as if suspended from the Old Man of Hoy

Hung-over, above the crashing sea

Twisted, contorted, bare feet find a footing - the drugs kick in

Sod the lot of them; but that won't do relax, reflect

Climb with uneasy wild steps, burn those broken step bridges

Beyond the smoke of roast skin, keep the fires, the braziers, the beacons

Always the shout - bastards, why me, why anyone?

Twitch, shudder, slaver on the pavement - bugger it

If only for a day I could wear more human, less humanoids shoes

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