CosmiKnot

Ode to Fibromyalgia That creeping cosmic dread That dim half-remembered presence That shadowy mysterious woman That delicious agony The sumptuous pain You came in through the kitchen side door So softly that I didn’t hear the latch And then as I stood washing the doing up You stood there gently breathing down my neck Until you spread yourself down my right arm Slowly emanating the stain of a warm buzz Through my entire total human organism Before I knew you were back in my life Keeping me up at night Going all hours like a bride groom’s speech But still I told myself It was me not you It wasn’t the old you I knew This was another thing, a normal one Tearing me a new one slowly but surely Until I realise my head is out of my firmament And you have returned In your best Goyaesque black dress A veil floating over your face But it’s you alright Come to take be back but first We dance a gentle merry jig around the room Still it’s no...

Secretarial Skills It/they/you has/have made us Turned us into PAs  We are our own secretaries Our own worst enemies We file/sort/place/deliver/post Order/arrange/display Our intentions to patiently/methodically Revert back to the original/memorial Neat and tidy four cards We file/distil life away Into corresponding sets/categories To leave no trace Of the original act To consume our own tales And then rate them on a spreadsheet To line up all the right angles To leave all stones unturned And arranged correctly In the appropriate cabinets We are the secretaries of our own downfall And we don’t like having our bottoms pinched

It rings a bell the campanologists are competing Although at this stage I don't know this Their sonority has yet to reach my timpanis membrane As I negotiate the mini roundabout on foot At the heart valve of the village Having sat the last hundred yards in silence After rebuking my wife For almost taking a wrong turning. It's all about the particulars see. You are to be found around the back of the Sussex Oak And suddenly the bells clang into focus The air is jubilant and expectant. Although I sense this is a rehearsal It isn't for the campanologists. Life is not a rehearsal they chime. Each pull is a meaningful yank (hear a clang across the pond) on the placenta of heaven's womb One false move and blood will rain. but until then here is a medley of events From the radiant to the apocalyptic Through the funereal via the every-day come hither cycle of the Sunday service. We sit supping our pints in a session And you roll an ex-smoker a fat one tha...