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                                the spectre

            titanic invisible but always close
            always dissipating to a high street on a
            Sunday afternoon shops closed
                                              shall I proceed along the street maybe
shall I take another route through the alleys and back roads
            shall I not be here at all
            it makes no difference

            everything is inert
            everything is lifeless
            everything is pointless

            and when daddy left to live
                      another life
            it was only then
            that I had a name for it
            invisible but always close

            but I grew on
            I became a superhero
            and studied the frames
            of a hundred different ways
            to be fantastic
            with a secret identity

                      only I
            became the poet who saw the peaks
            in others’ writings that broke the mists

            I travelled far visiting the cities and landscapes
            of others’ vistas in each shift of music

                      and only I
            noticed the scrolling credits
            of others’ lives

            I married and fathered myself
            bodhisattva to the lives of others
            but they lived incidental
            and carried me along for the ride anyway

            I built a panacea for the art of teaching –
fading fast, not sure how long she can hold on – but found that it was a nathema

            and all along was the writer
            who rubbed off the film and grime
            both here and there and found
            the colours dark but radiant

            and yes I should take
            the alleys and backstreets
            and notice the tall trees
            shapely and mauve
            and never noticed before
            behind the shops





childhood wormhole: ‘a walk up the path …’
divorce & lifetimes & superhero wormhole: wakey wakey / time to get up
Herbert Road wormhole: passing
identity wormhole: my struggle
life wormhole: my awareness / and growth / are like my abdomen
mauve wormhole: bench / corner of Cantwell Road / and Eglinton Hill
music wormhole: ‘the walking stick …’
reading wormhole: ontophilology
streets wormhole: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get (1973) – tribute
Sunday wormhole: when
talking to myself wormhole: so much
teaching wormhole: dream / career / 040712
trees wormhole: stamina
writing wormhole: relationship