yvette smith (LONDON)

I am molecule

I am a ball of paper

I am a thought passing itself off as

A feeling


I am pretending to be a coat stand

'Under cover'

I am a small insignificant sheet of toilet paper

I am an air freshner

My smell is ambiguous

Relevance is a matter of individual preference to the subject

Matter

I am matter

But do I matter

(I may or may not exist)

Does a toilet roll have feeling?

I have heard it cry out

When a sheet is torn

In pain

Is it my pain?

Or the sheet's pain

I am a soiled doilee

Wrongly spelt deliberately

Non flushable

I walk away in unpressed trousers

To sip on crushed fruit in a non alcoholic cocktail bar

I am no different from the clock on the wall

And a bunch of untended bananas crying for attention

Or the inebriate diabetic on a suicide mission

To overdose on fruit before sunset

My thought cannot resist the matter of fruit

The sunset is more inevitable than my fading lunar self

TRANSIENT

Tripping out solipsis

Eliptical


Lidless jar of rotten damsen


The truth about death is simple

I am a molecule

returning to particles

as transient

as invisible as

Airey selves


See you later I have to hang my washing out

My shoes cry in the hallway

After a week of toil

For a day off

I am the day

And the day off

Is the paradox of an uncertain existence

The week in question

Is held captive in the constructed framing of a

Calendar

It crys to be let out


But where can it go

To quote Larkin

'Where would we be without days? '