I am a puzzle to the doc. The CT-Scan
found nothing in my head (untoward),
but something is not right. He gives me
my papers, referrals for MRI scans, a blood
test and x-ray. Next stop, avocados from
down the road and short walk to the Kalang.
Gass or Klein would find the blues exceptional.
Across the island, a pair of Ospreys wheel
over the far river, the Bellingen, the motion
appears endless. The problem is I have
a pair of eyes, but they are not in sync.
A fisherman tiptoes along the river.
2
I rest my eyes, play Pink Floyd’s Meddle,
am taken to a stockbroker’s house in Surrey.
It’s a party, parents away, I’m upstairs dancing,
music pounds from my friend’s older brother’s
massive speakers. Someone puts on Echoes
and the grand piano’s sonar ping cuts my skin.
It’s an accident. I picture shards of ice stabbing
my sweetmeats, find it interesting, but tiring
wander into the garden, everyone is tripping
round in circles between roses with giant thorns
that cider-sweet afternoon in 71. Then
there are all the days I lived but can’t recall.
