Autobiography [poem]

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I am the poem that no one wants to read
the bird-shit on the washing on the line
the friend with whom your parents disagreed
the nips and tucks performed by Frankenstein

I am the wet dream junkie’s wishful thought
the stuff in which no human wants to tread
a severed air-line floating astronaut
a wide-eyed burned-out former acidhead

I am the game that no one wants to watch
the mangled car which shakes you up for days
the tell-tale stain upon the trousers’ crotch
that thing from which all eyes avert their gaze

I am the empty shoe found lying in the street
the sweater shrunk in water boiling hot
the fumbled grope you judged as indiscreet
the useless worker fired on the spot

I am the heart-throb’s cardiac arrest
the tree bent over by prevailing winds
the empty house which bankers repossessed
the oaf who slips on old banana skins

I am the broken-up umbrella in the gale
the awkward question no one ever asks
the semitones in every minor scale
the concept which the pupil never grasps

I am the village idiot who drools and limps
the single coal which glows in ashes grey
the one who draws you into labyrinths
whose father was a homeless cosmic ray

I am the cloudy skyful breeze-blown strand
of windsleeve humour’s fickle rippling waves
a 2am deserted taxi stand
the fussy parents’ child who misbehaves

I am the noise which no one’s ears can hear
the solipsistic falling forest tree
yet strangely I have always persevered
an unrepentant nomad refugee


© Alan Morrison, 2015

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