I’m doing it. Right, that’s it, I’m doing it. It doesn’t seem like a good time, but every year, it never seems like a good time. And I just moved by the seaside, so atleast if nothing else I can just write loads of poems about the water! Here’s attempt number one…
Canonize your grief
Give it hot tears,
blood risen purple and bold,
high drama in the veins and
church organ wings.
Give it sad songs
surprising you on the radio.
doubled in warm sobs
and perhaps a glamourous cigarette,
or a raised glass.
Give it all the glitter, potions,
soaring arias, pomp and
ribbons and rouge that it deserves.
Otherwise what is there?
Just staring into space,
wearing your dressing gown
in the cold, flat garden
and listening to your dull bones, wishing
with all their calcified might,
that they could turn back the clock.