Treasures in my Attick [poem
when i was a tiny child i constantly begged
the spirit i called god to render me invisible
but here i can report to you s/he never did
then when all my molecules had multiplied
and made me huger than i ever was before
i realised that now i am (invisible, that is)
for no one ever sees my crow’s flight path
across the mountainous terrain of what
was once called love but now is wordless
no one puts their hands inside my breast to
massage this arrhythmic heart for no one
hears its beat or even knows its whereabouts
& no one sees the cobwebs dangling ghostly
in my eyes (they wave at me to garner my
affection) while they slowly flood me blind
no one spies the archons as they weave their
carcinomic madness in my unseen flesh
and no one numbs my now relentless pain
no one sees me glide through alien territory
tightening up my flabby belt to hold my
loose old trousers up as surplus skin recedes
No one ever looks my way from front or back
nor even sideways glances & i wouldn’t ever
want it to be any other way (these are the facts)
the greatest benefit of such invisibility is that
all my squares and sharp acutesome angles
disappear as all is smooth & rendered roundly
now i am invisibly impervious and ready for
the change which strikes when matter’s of
no consequence and ashes scatter cloudly
.
.
© Alan Morrison, 2016
The Naked Troubadour 