My picture is of Blake’s dividers –
the right point, a few weeks hence
the left, back a month or two, or more, maybe
How far into the past do you want to go?
The danger when wringing out the best from history
is the side-effect of sterility
Many are not so lucky –
their fractured dream, dwelt in, not ditched, replaced
doesn’t give much to remember
Is your picture a Stone Age wall-painting?
Only because that’s where we started
Even deaf and blind, you can trace the outline, smell the old daub
It always was you, you and your secrets, open or hidden
I guess now it’s the latter, but better than having nothing
Watch me fall away, or bounce, who knows