I suppose
suppose that
it feels
feels different
to what
what has gone
gone before
feet
feet almost blue
hair
there’s no stopping
you can see
as far as you can
it forms
shapes
and sounds
shifts into
into shift
after
shift
after
breath
breathing
into existence
crying
slumped
on the back of a chair
the pillow
support
the window
the man
a light
in the distance
we make out
nothing
but a violin playing the same note it has played for many years
racing somewhere towards the end
the numbers stack up
punched
black and blue
found their way
into blueprint
idea
and rigged
anchored
sits with a pint
and a hard hat
drinks coffee
after
coffee
after coffee
to no end
but to plan
to scheme
rigs
cables
sends a message in the form of a signal
receives no response
as the light
snuffs out on his wallet
he’ll say he’s seen it
that he understands
pointing out
and saying that
is what that
is
this is what that is
that is what that is
colouring it in
saying that is what
I know it is
I can see
what it is
I saw it before
I’ve seen this before
runs to the end of a corridor
screaming
not screaming
being loud
in body
and action
reaching out
for the phone
ringing
it rings
three times
as his legs
are taken out from underneath him
eaten off by lions
and giants
sinking to the floor
famished
lost
hears through the receiver
nothing because
there’s nothing here
nothing for him
he turns
taking photographs
from different angles
as waves sit gently in their place
rocks start to move
and dance
he borrows from various locations
nods to problem
after
problem
saying he’s found a solution
before being stabbed
approached from above
screaming
saying the beginning
can be blamed for the end
the start
first step
prefabricated
and replicated
on embers
and eggshells
but with confidence
prevails
he grafts and he sells
fights fire
with fire
with matches
and bombs
tricks the wind to travel in different directions
allows people to come and go
up and down
has purpose
function
has bathroom
bedroom
has lift
staircase
hallway
and cupboard
beautiful in his mind
taxing on his brain
as he twists
turns through paper
and form
rejected
not advanced on time
stunted
with spanner
never completed
attained
started
but not yet
delivered
runs his hands through his hair
tempting an answer
but finding only drawings and scribbles
the inside of his imagination
supplying no comfort
no solution
to the numbers he has left
and the empty air he cannot afford to fill.
PHILIPPA MANNION 